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POEMS 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



COMPLETE IN TWO TOLUMES. 
VOLUME II. 




BOSTON: 
TICK NOR AND FIELDS. 

M DCCC LVII. 












Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 

Henry "W. Longfellow, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 

Massachusetts. 



riverside, Cambridge: 
stereotyped and printed 
h. 0. houghton and company. 



CONTENTS OF VOLUME II. 
EVANGELINE. 

PAGE 

Part the First . . . ... 5 

Part the Second ... . . 39 

THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
The Golden Legend 79 

HIAWATHA. 

Introduction 231 

I. The Peace-Pipe. 235 

II. The Four Winds , 240 

III. Hiawatha's Childhood 248 

IV. Hiawatha and Mudjekeewis 255 

V. Hiawatha's Fasting , 263 

VI. Hiawatha's Friends 271 

VII. Hiawatha's Sailing 276 

Vni. Hiawatha's Fishing 280 

IX. Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather 287 

X. Hiawatha's Wooing 295 

XL Hiawatha's Wedding-Feast 303 

XII. The Son of the Evening Star. 310 

XIII. Blessing the Corn-fields 320 

XIV. Picture-Writing 327 

XV. Hiawatha's Lamentation 332 

XVI. Pau-Puk-Keewis 338 

XVII. The Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis 345 

XVIII. The Death of Kwasind. 355 

XIX. The Ghosts 359 

XX. The Famine 365 

XXI. The White Man's Foot 370 

XXH. Hiawatha's Departure 377 

Notes 387 



EVANGELINE, 

A TALE OF ACADIE. 

1847. 



VOL. II. 



EVANGELINE. 

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring 
pines and the hemlocks, 

Bearded with moss, arid in garments green, indis- 
tinct in the twilight, 

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and 
prophetic, 

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on 
their bosoms. 

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced 
neighbouring ocean. 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 
wail of the forest. 

This is the forest primeval ; but where are the 

hearts that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the wood- 
land the voice of the huntsman ? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of 

Acadian farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water 

the woodlands, 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an 

image of heaven ? 
''"Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers 

forever departed ! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty 

blasts of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle 

them far o'er "the ocean. 
(3) 



4 EVANGELINE. 

Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful vil- 
lage of Grand-Pre. 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and 

endures, and is patient, 
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of 

woman's devotion, 
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the 

pines of the forest ; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the 

happy. 



PART THE FIRST. 
i. 

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of 

Minas, 
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand- 

Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched 

to the eastward, 
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks 
/ without number. 

jKPikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 

with labor incessant, 
Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons 

the flood-gates 
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will 

o'er the meadows. 
West and south there were fields of flax, and 

orchards and cornfields 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and 

away to the northward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the 

mountains 
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the 

mighty Atlantic 
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their 

station descended. 
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Aca- 
dian village. 
' Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak 

and of chestnut, 

(5) 



6 EVANGELINE. 

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the 

reign of the Henries. 
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows-, 

and gables projecting 
Over the basement below protected and shaded 
— -^ the door-way. 
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 

brightly the sunset 
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes 

on the chimneys, 
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and 

in kirtles 
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning 

the golden 
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles 

within doors 
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels 

and the songs of the maidens. 
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, 

and the children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended 

to bless them. 
Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 

matrons and maidens, 
Hailing his slow approach with words of affection- 
ate welcome. 
Then came the laborers home from the field, and 

serenely the sun sank 
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 

from the belfry 
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of 

the village 
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense 

ascending, 
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace 

and contentment. 
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 

farmers, — 
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were 

they free from 



EVANGELINE. 7 

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the 

vice of republics. 
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to 

their windows ; 
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts 

of the owners ; 
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived 

in abundance. 

,.■ Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer 

the Basin of Minas, 
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of 

Grand-Pre, 
Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, direct- 
ing his household, 
j Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride 

of the village. 
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of sev- 
enty winters ; 
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered 

with snow-flakes ; *• 
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks 

as brown as the oak-leaves. 
[Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 

summers. 
/Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the 

thorn by the way-side, 
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the 

brown shade of her tresses ! 
/ Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that 

feed in the meadows. 
| When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers 

at noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was 

the maiden. 
Fairer was she Avhen, on Sunday morn, while the 

bell from its turret 
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest 

with his hyssop 



8 EVANGELINE. 

Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings 

upon them, 
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet 

of beads and her missal, 
tWearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, 

and the ear-rings, 
(Brought in the olden time from France, and since, 

as an heirloom, 
Handed down from mother to child, through long 

generations. 
But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal 

beauty — 
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, 

after confession, 
Homeward serenely she walked with God's bene- 
diction upon her. 
\ When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing 
\ of exquisite music. \ 
Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the 

farmer 
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea, 

and a shady 
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine 

wreathing around it. 
Rudely caryed was the porch, with seats beneath ; 

and a footpath 
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in 

the meadow. 
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by 

a penthouse, 
Such as -the traveller sees in regions remote by the 

road-side, 
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image 

of Mary. 
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the 

well with its moss-grown 
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough 

for the horses. 
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were 

the barns and the farm-yard. 



EVANGELINE. 9 

There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the 

antique ploughs and the harrows ; 
There wercthe folds for the sheep ; and there, in 

his feathered seraglio, 
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, 

with the selfsame 
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent 

Peter. 
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a 

village. In each one 
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and 

a staircase, 
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous 

corn-loft, 
■^ffhere too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and 

innocent inmates 
Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant 
— < breezes 
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang 

of mutation. 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the far- 
mer of Grand-Pre 

Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed 
his household. 

Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and 
opened his missal, 

Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deep- 
est devotion ; 

Happy was he who might touch her hand or the 
hem of her garment ! 

Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness 
befriended, 

And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound 
of her footsteps, 

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 
knocker of iron ; 

Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the 
village, 



10 EVANGELINE. 

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance 

as he whispered 
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the 

music. 
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was 

welcome ; 
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- 
smith, 
Who was a mighty man in the village, and hon- 
ored of all men ; 
For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and 

nations, 
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by 

the people. 
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from 

earliest childhood 
Grew up together as brother and sister ; and 

Father Felician, 
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had 

taught them their letters 
Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the 

church and the plain-song. 
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson 

completed, 
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the 

blacksmith. 
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes 

to behold him 
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a 

plaything, _ 
Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the 

tire of the cart-wheel 
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of 

cinders. 
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gather- 
ing darkness 
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 

every cranny and crevice, 
Warm by the forge within they watched the labor- 
ing bellows, 



EVANGELINE. 11 

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired 

in the ashes, 
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going 

into the chapel. 
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of 

the eagle, 
Down the hill-side bounding, they glided away o'er 

the meadow. 
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests 

on the rafters, 
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, 

which the swallow 
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight 

of its fledglings ; 
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of 

the swallow! 
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer 

were children. 
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face 

of the morning, 
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 

thought into action. 
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of 

a woman. 
"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called; fo, 

that was the sunshine 
Which, as the farmers believed, would load t 

orchards with apples ; 
She, too, would bring to her husband's house deli 

and abundance, 
Filling it full of love, and the ruddy faces of chil- 
dren. 



for 






ii. 



Now had the season returned, when the nights 

grow colder and longer, 
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion 

enters. 



12 EVANGELINE. 

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, 

from the ice-bound, 
Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical 

islands. 
Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the 

winds of September 
Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old 

with the angel. 
All the signs foretold a winter long and inelem- 

ent. 
Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded 

their honey 
Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters 

asserted 
Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of 

the foxes. 
Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed 

that beautiful season, 
Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer 

oi' All- Saints ! 
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; 

and the landscape 
Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of child- 
hood, 
^^^eace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless 
§^k heart of the ocean 
^Hfts for a moment consoled. All sounds were in 

^F harmony blended. 
I^oices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in 

the farm-yards, 
Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of 

pigeons, 
All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, 

^fcmd the great sun 
Looked with the eye of love through the golden 

vapors around him ; 
While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet 

and yellow, 
Bright wjth the sheen of the dew, each glittering 

tree of the forest 



EVANGELINE. 13 

Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned 
with mantles and jewels. 

v Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection 

and stillness. 
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and 

twilight descending 
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the 

herds to the homestead. 
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their 

necks on each other, 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the fresh- 
ness of evening. 
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful 

heifer, 
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that 

waved from her collar, 
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human 

affection. 
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating 

flocks from the seaside, 
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them 

followed the watch-dog, 
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride 

of his instinct, 
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and 

superbly 
Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the 

stragglers ; 
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; 

their protector, 
When from the forest at night, through the starry 

silence, the wolves howled. 
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from 

the marshes, 
Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its 

odor. 
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their 

manes and their fetlocks, 



14 EVANGELINE. 

While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and 
ponderous saddles, 

Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tas- 
sels of crimson, 

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with 
blossoms. 

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded 
their udders 

Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in 
regular cadence 

Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets de- 
scended. 

Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard 
in the farm-yard, 

Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into 
stillness ; 

Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of 
the barn-doors, 

Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was 
silent. 

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, 
idly the farmer 
Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames 

and the smoke-wreaths 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. 

Behind him, 
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures 
fantastic, 
^ Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away 
s into darkness. 

Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his 

arm-chair 
Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter 

plates on the dresser 
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies 
the sunshine. 
/ Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of 
Christmas, 



EVANGELINE. 15 

Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers be- 
fore him 

Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Bur- 
gundian vineyards. 

Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline 
seated, 

Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner 
behind her. 

Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its dili- 
gent shuttle. 

While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the 
drone of a bagpipe, 

Followed the old man's song, and united the frag- 
ments together. 

As in a church, when the chant of the choir at in- 
tervals ceases, 

Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the 
priest at the altar, 

So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion 
the clock clicked. 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, 

suddenly lifted, 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung 

back on its hinges. 
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil 

the blacksmith, 
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who 

was with him. 
" Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their foot- 
steps paused on the threshold, 
" Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy 

place on the settle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty 

without thee ; 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box 

of tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when through the 

curlino- 



16 EVANGELINE. 

Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and 

jovial face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through the 

mist of the marshes." 
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil 

the blacksmith, 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the 

fireside : — 
" Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest 

and thy ballad ! 
Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others 

are filled with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before 

them. 
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked 

up a horseshoe." 
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evange- 
line brought him, 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he 

slowly continued : — 
" Four days now are passed since the English ships 

at their anchors 
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon 

pointed against us. 
What their design may be is unknown ; but all are 

commanded 
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 

Majesty's mandate 
Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in 

the mean time 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the 

people." 
Then made answer the farmer : — " Perhaps some 

friendlier purpose 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the 

harvests in England 
By the untimely rains or untimelier heat have been 

blighted, 
And from our bursting barns they would feed their 

cattle and children." 



EVANGELINE. 17 

" Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, 

warmly, the blacksmith, 
Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a 

sigh, he continued : — 
" Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor 

Port Royal. 
Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on 

its outskirts, 
Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to- 
morrow. 
«<Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weap- 
ons of all kinds ; 
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the 

scythe of the mower." 
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial 

farmer : — 
u Safer are Ave unarmed, in the midst of our flocks 

and our cornfields, 
Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the 

ocean, 
Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the 

enemy's cannon. 
Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no 

shadow of sorrow 
Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night 

of the contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The. merry lads 

of the village 
Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking 

the glebe round about them, 
Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food 

for a twelvemonth. 
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers 

and inkhorn. 
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy 

of our children ? " 
As apart by the window she stood, with her hand 

in her lover's, 

VOL. II. 2 



18 EVANGELINE. 

Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her 

father had spoken, 
And as they died on his lips the worthy notary 

entered. 

in. 
Bent like a laboring oar, the toils. in the surf of 

the ocean, 
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the 

notary public ; 
Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the 

maize, hung 
Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and 

glasses with horn bows 
Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom 

supernal. 
Father of" twenty children was he, and more than 

a hundred 
Children's children rode on his knee, and heard 

his great watch tick. 
Four long years in the times of the war had he 

languished a captive, 
Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend 

of the English. 
Now, though warier grown, without all guile or sus- 
picion, 
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, 

and childlike. 
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the 

children ; 
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the 

forest, 
And of the goblin that came in the night to water \ 

the horses, y 

And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who 

unchristened 
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the cham- 
bers of children ; 
And how on Christinas eve the oxen talked in the 

stable, 



EVANGELINE. 19 

And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up 

in a nutshell, 
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover 

and horseshoes, 
With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the 

village. 
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil 

the blacksmith, 
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly ex- 
tending his right hand, 
" Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast heard 

the talk in the village, 
And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these 

ships and their errand." 
Then with modest demeanour made answer the 

notary public, — 
" Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am 

never the wiser ; 
And what their errand may be I know not better 

than others. 
Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil inten- 
tion 
Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why 

then molest us ? " 
" God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat 

irascible blacksmith ; 
" Must we in all things look for the how, and the 

why, and the wherefore ? 
- Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of 

the strongest ! " 
But, without heeding his warmth, continued the 

notary public, — 
Y u Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally jus- 
^" tice 

Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often 

consoled me, 
When as a captive I lav in the old French fort at 

Port Royal." 
This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved 

to repeat it 



20 EVANGELINE. 

When his neighbours complained that any injustice 

was done them. 
" Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer 

remember, 
Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Jus- 
tice 
Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in 

its left hand, 
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice 

presided 
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and 

homes of the people. 
Even the birds had built their nests in the scales 

of the balance, 
Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the 

sunshine above them. 
But in the course of time the laws of the land 

were corrupted ; 
Might took the place of right, and the weak were 

oppressed, and the mighty 
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a 

nobleman's palace 
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a 

suspicion 
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the 

household. 
She, after form of trial condemned to die on the 

scaffold, 
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue 

of Justice. 
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit 

ascended, 
Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of 

the thunder 
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath 

from its left hand 
Down on the pavement below the clattering scales 

of the balance, 
And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a 

magpie, 



EVANGELINE. 21 

Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls 

was inwoven." 
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was 

ended, the blacksmith 
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth 

no language ; 
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his 

face, as the vapors 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in 

the winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the 

table, 
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with 

home-brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in 

the village of Grand-Pre ; 
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers 

and ink-horn, 
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of 

the parties, 
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep 

/ and in cattle. 
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well 

were completed, 
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on 

the margin. 
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on 

the table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of 

silver ; 
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and 

the bridegroom, 
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their 

welfare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed 

and departed, 
WMle in silence the others sat and mused by the 

fireside, 



22 EVANGELINE. 

Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of 
its corner. 

Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention 
the old men 

Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeu- 
vre, 

Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach 
was made in the king-row. 

Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a win- 
dow's embrasure, 

Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding 
the moon rise 

Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the 
meadows. 

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of 
heaven, 
\ Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of 
the angels. 

Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell 

from the belfry 
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and 

straightway 
Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned 

in the household. 
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the 
T door-step 

Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, *md filled it 

with gladness. 
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed 

on the hearth-stone, 
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the 

farmer. 
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline 

followed. 
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the 

darkness, 
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of 

the maiden. 



EVANGELINE. 23 

Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the 

door of her chamber. 
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, 

and its clothes-press 
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were 

carefully folded 
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evan- 
geline woven. 
This was the precious dower she would bring to her 

husband in marriage, 
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her 

skill as a housewife. 
Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow 

and radiant moonlight 
Streamed through the windows and lighted the 

room, till the heart of the maiden 
Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous 

tides of the ocean. 
Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as 

she stood with 
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of 

her chamber! 
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of 

the orchard, 
Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of 

her lamp and her shadow. 
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feel- 
ing of sadness 
Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds 

in the moonlight 
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for 

a moment. 
And as she gazed from the window she saw serenely 

the moon pass 
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow 

her footsteps, 
As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered 

with Ha^ar ! 



6 



24 EVANGELINE. 



Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village 
of Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin 
of Minas, 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, 
were riding at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and clam- 
orous labor 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates 
of the morning. 
' Now from the country around, from the farms and 
the neighbouring hamlets, 
"MUame in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian 
peasants. 

Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from 
the young folk 

Made the bright air brighter, as up from the nu- 
merous meadows, 

Where no path could be seen but the track of 
wheels in the greensward, 

Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed 
on the highway. 

Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor 
were silenced. 

Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy 
groups at the house-doors 

Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossipped 
together, 
l Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed 

and feasted ; 
/ For with this simple people, who lived like broth- 
ers together, 
\A11 things were held in common, and what one had 
was another's. 

Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more 
abundant : 



EVANGELINE. 25 

For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 
father ; 

Bright was her face with smiles, and words of wel- 
come and gladness 
ell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as 
she cave it. 



Ft 



Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 

orchard, 
Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of 

betrothal. 
There in the shade of the porch were the priest 

and the notary seated ; 
There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the 

blacksmith. 
Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press 

and the beehives, 
Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of 

hearts and of waistcoats. 
Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played 

on his snow-white 
Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face 

of the fiddler 
Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown 

from the embers. 
Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his 

fiddle, 
Tons les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de 

Dunkerque, 
And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the 

music. 
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying 

dances 
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the 

meadows ; 
Old folk and young together, and children mingled 

among them. 
j Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's 

daughter ! 



26 EVANGELINE. 

Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the 
blacksmith ! 

So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a 

summons sonorous 
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the 

meadows a drum beat. 
Thronged ere long was the church with men. 

Without, in the churchyard, 
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, 

and hung on the head-stones 
Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh 

from the forest. 
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching 

proudly among them 
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dis- 
sonant clangor 
Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceil- 
ing and casement, — 
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous 

portal 
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will 

of the soldiers. 
Then uprose their commander, and spake from the 

steps of the altar, 
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal 

commission. 
" You are convened this day," he said, *' by his 

Majesty's orders. 
Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have 

answered his kindness, 
Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make 

and my temper 
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must 

be grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of 

our monarch ; 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and 

cattle of all kinds 



EVANGELINE. 27 

Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you your- 
selves from this province 
Be transported to other lands. God grant you 

may dwell there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable 

people ! 
Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his 

Majesty's pleasure ! " 
As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of 

summer, 
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of 

the hailstones 
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and 

shatters his windows, 
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with 

thatch from the house-roofs, 
Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their 

inclosures ; 
So on the hearts of the people descended the 

words of the speaker. 
Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, 

and then rose 
Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and 

anger, 
And,, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to 

the door-way. 
Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce 

imprecations 
Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er 

the heads of the others 
Hose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the 

blacksmith, 
As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the 

billows. 
Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; 

and wildly he shouted, — 
" Down with the tyrants of England ! we never 

have sworn them allegiance ! 
Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our 

homes and our harvests ! " 



28 EVANGELINE. 

More he fain would have said, but the merciless 

hand of a soldier 
Smote him upon thetmoutii, and dragged him 



itmoutl 

v\j^Rt. 



down to the pav\j|^Kt 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry 

contention, 
Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 

Felician 
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps 

of the altar. 
Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed 

into silence 
All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to 

his people ; 
Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents 

measured and mournful 
Spake he, as^ after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly 

the cloclvSirikes. 
" What is this that ye do, my children ? what 

madness has seized you ? 
Forty years of my life have I labored among you, 

and taught you, 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one 

another ! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and 

prayers and privations ? 
Have you so soonforgotten all lessons of love and 

forgiveness*?" _^^—> ^ 

This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and 

would you profane it S 

Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 

with hatred ? "\ 

Lo! where the crucified Ckrist from his cross is 

gazing upon you ! \, 

See! in those sorrowful eyes what. meekness and 

holy compassion ! 
Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ' O 

Father, forgive them ! ' 



Let us repeat, that prater /n the hou^whtenthe 
wicked assail usy 9 I \^_ 

Let us repeat it now^nd p\v, ' O Fa/per, forgive 
them ! ' " 

Few were his words ot~febuke, but /d^ep inyfti 
hearts of his peoph 

Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that 
passionate outbreak ; 

And they repeated his prayer, ajftl ^aid^,/ O Fa- 
ther, forgive them ! 



Then came the evening ser/ice. The tapers 

gleamed from the altar. 
Fervent and deep was the voic£ of the priest, and 

the people responded, 
Not with their lips alone, but tleir hearts yrfnd the 

Ave Maria 
Sang they, and fell on their kn^es, aarfT their souls, 

with devotion translated, 
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Ehflah ascending 

to heaven. 



Meanwhile had spread in thaA'illage the tidings 

of ill, and on all sides 
Wandered, wailing, from ho]/£e to house the women 

and children. 
Long at her father's doo/ Evangeline stood, with 

her right hand 
Shielding her eyes from the Te'v^Tj^STJrVthe sun, 

that, descending, ^^^ N. 

Lighted the village street wid^nysterious splencta^, 

and roofed each ^r 
Peasant's cottage with^jolden thatch, and em- 
blazoned its \jfifndows. 
Long within hadWen spread the snow-white cloth 

on tfee^Die ; 
There stoodthe wheaten loaf, and the honey 

fragrant with wild flowers ; 
There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese 

fresh brought from the dairy ; 



30 EVANGELINE. 

And at the bead of the board the great arm-chair 

of the farmer. 
Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as 

the sunset jf 

Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad 

ambrosial meadows. 
Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had 

fallen, 
And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial 

ascended, — 
Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, 

and patience! 
Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the 

village, 
Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate 

hearts of the women, 
As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps 

they departed, 
Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet 

of their children. 
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glim- 
mering vapors 
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet 

descending from Sinai. 
. Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angel us 

sounded. 

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church 

Evangeline lingered. 
All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and 

the windows 
Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome 

by emotion 
" Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; 

but no answer 
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the 

gloomier grave of the living. 
^Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless 

house of her father 



EVANGELINE. 31 

Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the ^board 

stood the supper untasted, 
Empty and drear was each room, and haunted 

with phantoms of terror. 
Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor 

of her chamber. 
In the dead of the ni^ght she heard the whispering 

rain fall 
.Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree 

by the window. 
Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the 
f echoing thunder 

Told her that God was in heaven, and governed 

the world he created ! 
j Then she remembered the tale she had heard of 

the justice of heaven ; 
Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully 

slumbered till morning:. 



Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now 

on the fifth day 
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of 

the farm-house. 
Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful 

procession, 
Came from the neighbouring hamlets and farms 

the Acadian women, 
Driving in ponderous wains their household goods 

to the sea-shore, 
Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on 

their dwellings, 
Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road 

and the woodland. 
Close at their sides their children ran, and urged 

on the oxen, 
While in their little hands they clasped some frag- 
ments of playthings. 



32 EVANGELINE. 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; 

and there on the sea-beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the 

peasants. 
All day long between the shore and the ships did 

the boats ply ; 
All day long the wains came laboring down from 

the village. 
Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to 

his setting, 
Echoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums 

from the church-yard. 
Thither the women and children thronged. On a 

sudden the church-doors 
Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching 

in gloomy procession 
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Aca- 
dian farmers. 
Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their 

homes and their country, 
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are 

weary and way-worn, 
So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants 

descended 
Down from the church to the shore, amid their 

wives and their daughters. 
Foremost the young men came ; and, raising 

together their voices, 
Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the 

Catholic Missions : — 
" Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible 

fountain ! 
Fill our hearts this day with strength and submis- 



sion and pat 



K'lH'C 



Then the old men, as they marched, and the 
women that stood by the way-side 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the 
sunshine above them 

Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits 
departed. 



EVANGELINE. 33 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited 

in silence, 
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of 

affliction. — 
Calmly and sadly 1 ; waited, until the procession 

approached her, 
And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with 

emotion. 
Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to 

meet him, 
Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 

shoulder, and whispered, — 
" Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one 

another, 
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mis- 
chances may happen ! " 
Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly 

paused, for her father 
Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed 

was his aspect ! 
Gone w r as the glow from his cheek, and the fire 

from his eye, and his footstep 
Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary 

heart in his bosom. 
But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck 

and embraced him, 
Speaking words of endearment where words of 

comfort availed not. 
Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that 

mournful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and 
stir of embarking. 

Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the con- 
fusion 

AVives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, 
too late, saw their children 

Left on the land, extending their arms, with 
wildest' entreaties. 

VOL. II. 3 



34 EVANGELINE. 

So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel 

carried, 
While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood 

with her father. 
Half the task was not done when the sun went 

down, and the twilight 
Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the 

refluent ocean 
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the 

sand-beach 
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the 

slippery sea-weed. 
Farther back in the midst of the household goods 

and the wagons, 
Like to a gipsy camp, or a leaguer after a 

battle, 
All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels 

near them, 
Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian 

farmers. 
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellow- 
ing ocean, 
Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, 

and leaving 
Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of 

the sailors. 
Then, as the night descended, the herds returned 

from their pastures ; 
Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk 

from their udders ; 
Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known 

bars of the farm-yard, — 
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the 

hand of the milkmaid. 
Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no 

Angelus sounded, 
Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no 

lights from the windows. 



EVANGELINE. 35 

But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires 

had been kindled, 
Built of* the drift-wood thrown on the sands from 

wrecks in the tempest. 
Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces 

were gathered, 
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and 

the crying of children. 
Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth 

in his parish, 
"Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and bless- 
ing and cheering, y 
Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Merita's desolate 

sea-shore. 
Thus he approached the place where Evangeline 

sat with her father, 
And in the flickering light beheld the face of the 

old man, 
Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either 

thought or emotion, 
E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands 

have been taken. 
Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses 

to cheer him, 
Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he 

looked not, he spake not, 
But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed' at the flick- 
ering fire-light. 
" Benedicite ! " murmured the priest, in tones of 

compassion. 
More he fain would have said, but his heart was 

full, and his accents 
Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a 

child on a threshold, 
Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful 

presence of sorrow. 
Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head 

of the maiden, 
Raising his eyes, full of tears, to the silent stars 

that above them 



36 EVANGELINE. 

Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs 

and sorrows of mortals. 
Then sat he down at her side, and they wept 

together in silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in 
autumn the blood-red 

Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er 
the horizon 

Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon moun- 
tain and meadow, 

Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 
shadows together. 

Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs 
of the village, 

Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships 
that lay in the roadstead. 

Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of 
flame were 

Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like 
the quivering hands of a martyr. 

Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burn- 
ing thatch, and, uplifting, 

Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from 
a hundred house-tops 

Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame 
intermingled. 

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the 

shore and on shipboard. 
Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in 

their anguish, 
" We shall behold no more our homes in the 

village of Grand-Pre ! " 
Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the 

farm-yards, 
Thinking the day had dawned : and anon the 

lowing of cattle 
Came on the evening breeze, bv the barking of 

dogs interrupted. 



EVANGELINE. 37 

Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the 

sleeping encampments 
Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the 

Nebraska, 
When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the 

speed of the whirlwind, 
Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to 

the river. 
Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the 

herds and the horses 
Broke through their folds and fences, and madly 

rushed o'er the meadows. 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the 

priest and the maiden 
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 

widened before them ; 
And as they turned at length to speak to their 

silent companion, 
Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 

abroad on the sea-shore 
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had 

departed. 
Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the 

maiden 
Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her 

terror. 
Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head 

on his bosom. 
Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 

slumber; 
And when she woke from the trance, she beheld 

a multitude near her. 
Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully 

gazing upon her, 
Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest 

compassion. 
Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the 

landscape, 



38 EVANGELINE. 

Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the 

faces around her, 
And like the day of doom it seemed to her waver- 
/ ing senses. 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the 

people, — 
" Let us bury him here by the sea. When a 

happier season 
Brings us again to our homes from the unknown 

land of our exile, 
Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the 

church-yard." 
Such were the words of the priest. And there in 

haste by the sea-side, 
Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 

torches, 
But without bell or book, they buried the farmer 

of Grand-Pre. 
And as the voice of the priest repeated the service 

of sorrow, 
Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast 

congregation, 
Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar 

with the dirges. 
'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste 

of the ocean, 
With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and 

hurrying landward. 
Then recommenced once more the stir and noise 

of embarking ; 
! And with the ebb of that tide the ships sailed out 

of the harbour, 
j Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and 

the villajre in ruins. 





EVAXGELIXE. 




PART THE SECOND. 




i. 



39 



(jVf any a weary year had passed since the burning 

of Qrand-Pre, 
When on the falling tide the freighted vessels 

departed. 
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into 

'exile, 
Exile without an end, and without an example in 

story. 
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 

landed ; 
Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the 

wind from the northeast 
Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 

Banks pf Newfoundland. 
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from 

city to city, 
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry South- 
ern savannas, — 
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands 

where the Father of Waters 
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down 

to the ocean, 
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of 

the mammoth. 
Friends they sought and homes ; and many, de- 
spairing, heart-broken, 
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a 

friend nor a fireside. 
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in 
i the church-yards. 

\ Long among them was seen a maiden who waited 
r? and wandered, 

Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering 

all things. 



40 EVANGELINE. 

Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her 

extended, 
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with 

its pathway 
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed 

and suffered before her, 
Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead 

and abandoned, 
. As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is 

marked by 
Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach 

in the sunshine. 
Something there was in her life incomplete, imper- 
fect, unfinished ; 
As if a morning of June, with all its music and 

sunshine, 
Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly 

descended 
Into the east again, from whence it late had 

arisen. 
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the 

fever within her, 

by a restless 

of the spirit, 
She would commence again her endless search and 

endeavour ; 
Sometimes in church-yards strayed, and gazed on 

the crosses and tombstones, 
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that 

perhaps in its bosom 
He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber 

beside him. 
Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate 

whisper, 
Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her 

forward. 
Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her 

beloved and known him, 
But it was long ago, in some far-off place or for- 
gotten. 



EVAXGELIXE. 41 

" Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said they ; " O, yes ! we 

have seen him. 
He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have 

gone to the prairies ; 
Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters 

and trappers." 
" Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " O, yes ! we 

have seen him. 
He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisi- 
ana." 
Then would they say, — " Dear child ! why dream 

and wait for him longer ? 
Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? 

others 
Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as 

loyal ? _ 
Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who 

has loved thee 
Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand 

and be happy ! 
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's 

tresses." 
Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but 

sadly, — " I cannot ! 
Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, 

and not elsewhere. 
For when the heai't goes before, like a lamp, and 

illumines the pathway, 
Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in 

darkness." 
And thereupon the priest, her friend and father- 
confessor, 
Said, with a smile, — " O daughter ! thy God thus 

speaketh within thee ! 
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was 

wasted ; 
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, 

returning 
Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them 

full of refreshment ; 



42 EVANGELINE. 

That which the fountain sends forth returns again 
to the fountain. 

Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy 
work of affection ! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endur- 
ance is godlike. 

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the 
heart is made godlike, 

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered 

^ m0 ^~~ more worthy of heaven ! " 

Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline 
labored and Avaited. 

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of 
the ocean, 

But with its sound there was mingled a voice that 
whispered, " Despair not ! " 

Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheer- 
less discomfort, 

Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns 
of existence. 

Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's 
footsteps ; — 

Not through each devious path, each changeful 
year of existence ; 

But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course 
through the valley : 

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam 
of its water 

Here and there, in some open space, and at inter- 
vals only ; 

Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan 
glooms that conceal it, 

Though he behold it not, he can hear its continu- 
ous murmur ; 

Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it 
reaches an outlet. 



EVAXGELTXE. 43 



It was the month of May. Far down the Beauti- 
ful River, 
Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the 

Wabash, 
Into the golden stream of the broad and swift 

Mississippi, 
Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by 

Acadian boatmen. 
It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the 

shipwrecked 
Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating 

together, 
Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a 

common misfortune ; 
Men and women and children, who, guided by hope 

or by hearsay, 
Sought for their kith and their kin among the few- 
acred farmers 
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair 

Opelousas. 
With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the 

Father Felician. 
Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness 

sombre with forests, 
Day after day they glided adown the turbulent 

river ; 
Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped 

on its borders. 
Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, 

where plumelike 
Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they 

swept with the current, 
Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery 

sand-bars 
Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves 

of their margin, 



44 EVANGELINE. 

Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of 

pelicans waded. 
Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of 

the river, 
Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant 

gardens, 
Stood the houses of planters, Avith negro-cabins and 

dove-cots. 
They were approaching the region where reigns 

perpetual summer, 
Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of 

orange and citron, 
Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the 

eastward. 
They, too, swerved from their course ; and, enter- 
ing the Bayou of Plaquemine, 
Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious 

waters, 
Which, like a network of steel, extended in every 

direction. 
Over their heads the towering and tenebrous 

boughs of the cypress 
Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid 

air, 
Waved like banners that hang on the walls of 

ancient cathedrals. 
Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save 

by the herons 
Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning 

at sunset, 
Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demo- 
niac laughter. 
Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed 

on the water, 
Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar 

sustaining the arches, 
Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through 

chinks in a ruin. 
Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all 

things around them ; 



EVANGELINE. 45 

And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of 
wonder and sadness, — 

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot 
be compassed. 

As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the 
prairies, 

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrink- 
ing mimosa, 

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings 
of evil, 

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of 
doom has attained it. 
-But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, 
that faintly 

Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on 
through the moonlight. 

It was the thought of her brain that assumed the 
shape of a phantom. 

Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wan- 
dered before her, 

And every stroke of the oar now brought him 
nearer and nearer. 

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose 

one of the oarsmen, 
And, as a signal sound, if others like them perad- 

venture 
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew 

a blast on his bugle. 
Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors 

leafy the blast rang, 
Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to 

the forest. 
Soundless above them the banners of moss just 

stirred to the music. 
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the dis- 
tance, 
Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant 

branches ; 



46 EVANGELIXE. 

But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the 

darkness ; 
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of 

pain was the silence. 
Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed 

through the midnight, 
Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian 

boat-songs, 
Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian 

rivers. 
And through the night were heard the mysterious 

sounds of the desert, 
Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in the 

forest, 
Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar 

of the grim alligator. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from those 
shades ; and before them 

Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atcha- 
falaya. 

Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undu- 
lations 

Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in 
beauty, the lotus 

Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the 
boatmen. 

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of 
magnolia blossoms, 

And with the heat of noon ; and numberless 
sylvan islands, 

Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming- 
hedges of roses, 

Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to 
slumber. 

Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were 
suspended. 

Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by 
the margin, 



EVANGELINE. 47 

Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about 

on the greensward, 
Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers 

slumbered. 
Over them vast and high extended the cope of a 

cedar. 
Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower 

and the grape-vine 
Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of 

Jacob, 
On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, 

descending, 
Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from 

blossom to blossom. 
Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slum- 
bered beneath it. 
►> Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an 

opening heaven 
Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions 

celestial. 

Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless 

islands, 
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the 

water, 
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters 

and trappers. 
Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the 
<yjj bTson and beaver. 
At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thought- 
ful and careworn. 
Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, 

and a sadness 
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly 

written. 
Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy 

and restless, 
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of 



48 EVANGELINE. 

Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of 

the island, 
But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of 

palmettos, 
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay 

concealed in the willows, 
And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and 

unseen, were the sleepers ; 
Angel of God was there none to awaken the 

slumbering maiden. 
Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud 

on the prairie. 
After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died 

in the distance, 
As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the 

maiden 
Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, — " O Father 

Felicia n ! 
Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel 

wanders. 
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague super- 
stition ? 
Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to 

my spirit i " 
Then, with a blush, she added, — "Alas for my 

credulous fancy ! 
Unto ears like thine such words as these have no 

meaning." 
But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled 

as he answered, — 
" Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they 

to me without meaning. 
Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats 

on the surface 
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the 

anchor is hidden. 
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world 

calls illusions. 
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the 

southward, 



EVANGELINE. 49 

On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. 

Maur and St. Martin. 
There the long-wandering bride shall be given 

again to her bridegroom, 
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and 

his sheepfold. 
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests 

of fruit-trees ; 
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest 

of heavens 
Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls 

of the forest. 
They who dwell there have named it the Eden of 

Louisiana." 

And with these words of cheer they arose and 

continued their journey. 
Softly the evening came. The sun from the 

western horizon 
Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the 

landscape ; 
Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and 

forest 
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and 

mingled together. 
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of 

silver, 
Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the 

motionless water. 
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible 

sweetness. 
Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains 

of feeling 
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and 

waters around her. 
Then from a neighbouring thicket the mocking- 
bird, wildest of singers, 
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the 

water, 
VOL. II. 4 



50 EVANGELINE. 

Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious 

music, 
That the whole air and the woods and the waves 

seemed silent to listen. 
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then 

soaring to madness 
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of 

frenzied Bacchantes. 
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low 

lamentation ; 
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them 

abroad in derision, 
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the 

tree-tops 
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower 

on the branches. 
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that 

throbbed with emotion, 
Slowly they entered the Teche, where "it flows 

through the green Opelouaas, 
And through the amber air, above the crest of 

the woodland, 
Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neigh- 
bouring dwelling; — 
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant 

lowing of cattle. 



/ Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by 
oaks, from whose branches 

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe 
flaunted, 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets 
at Yule-tide, 

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herds- 
man. A garden 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant 
blossoms, 



EVANGELINE. 51 

Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself 

was of timbers 
Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted 

together. 
Large and low was the roof; and on slender 

columns supported, 
Rose-wreath, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious 

veranda, 
Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended 

around it. 
At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the 

garden, 
Stationed -the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual 

symbol, 
Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions 

of rivals. 
Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of 

shadow and sunshine 
Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house 

itself was in shadow, 
And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly 

expanding 
Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke 

rose. 
In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, 

ran a pathway 
Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of 

the limitless prairie, 
Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly 

descending. 
Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy 

canvas. 
Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless 

calm in the tropics, 
Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of 
frape-vines. 



Just where the Avoodlands met the flowery surf 
of the prairie, 



52 EVANGELINE. 

Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and 

stirrups, 
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet 

of deerskin. 
Broad and brown was the face that from under the 

Spanish sombrero 
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look 

of its master. 
Round about him were numberless herds of kine, 

that were grazing 
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory 

freshness 
That uprose from the river, and spread itself over 

the landscape. 
Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and 

expanding 
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that 

resounded 
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp 

air of the evening. 
Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of 

the cattle 
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of 

ocean. 
Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed 

o'er the prairie, 
And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the 

distance. 
Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through 

the gate of the garden 
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden 

advancing to meet him. 
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in 

amazement, and forward 
Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of 

wonder ; 
When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil 

the Blacksmith. 
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the 

garden. 



EVANGELINE. 53 

There in an arbour of roses with endless question 

and answer 
Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their 

friendly embraces, 
Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent 

and thoughtful. 
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark 

doubts and misgivings 
Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, somewhat 

embarrassed, 
Broke the silence and said, — " If you came by the 

Atchafalaya, 
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's 

boat on the bayous ? " 
Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a 

shade passed. 
Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a 

tremulous accent, — 
" Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her 

face on his shoulder, 
All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept 

and lamented. 
Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew 

blithe as he said it,— 
" Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day he 

departed. 
Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds 

and my horses. 
Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, 

his spirit 
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet 

existence. 
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful 

ever, 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his 

troubles, 
He at length had become so tedious to men and to 

maidens, 
Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, 

and sent him 



54 EVANGELINE. 

Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with 

the Spaniards. 
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the 

Ozark Mountains, 
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping 

the beaver. 
Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the 

fugitive lover ; 
He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the 

streams are against him. 
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew 

of the morning 
We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his 

prison." 

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the 
banks of the river, 

Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael 
the fiddler. 

Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on 
Olympus, 

Having no other care than dispensing music to 
mortals. 

Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his 
fiddle. 

" Long live Michael," they cried, " our brave 
Acadian minstrel ! " 

As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; 
and straightway 

Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greet- 
ing the old man 

Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, 
enraptured, 

Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and 
gossips, 

Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers 
and daughters. 

Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci- 
devant blacksmith, 



EVANGELINE. 55 

All his domains and bis herds, and his patriarchal 

demeanour ; 
Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil 

and the climate, 
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were 

his who would take them ; 
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would 

go and do likewise. 
Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the 

airy veranda, 
Entered the hall of the house, where already the 

supper of Basil 
Waited his late return ; and they rested and 

feasted together. 

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness 

descended. 
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape 

with silver, 
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; 

but within doors, 
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in 

the glimmering lamplight. 
Then from his station aloft, at the head of the 

table, the herdsman 
Poured forth his heart and his wine together in 

endless profusion. 
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet 

Natchitoches tobacco, 
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and 

smiled as they listened : — 
" Welcome once more, my friends, who so long 

have been friendless and homeless, 
Welcome once more to a home, that is better 

perchance than the old one ! 
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the 

rivers ; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the 

farmer. 



56 EVANGELINE. 

Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil as 

a keel through the water. 
All the year round the orange-groves are in 

blossom ; and grass grows 
More in a single night than a whole Canadian 

summer. 
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and un- 
claimed in the prairies ; 

too, lands may be 

forests of timber 
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed 

into houses. 
After your houses are built, and your fields are 

yellow with harvests, 
No King George of England shall drive you away 

from your homesteads, 
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing 

your farms and your cattle." 
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud 

from his nostrils, 
And his huge, brawny hand came thundering down 

on the table, 
So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, 

astounded, 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way 

to his nostrils. 
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were 

milder and gayer : — 
" Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of 

the fever ! 
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian clim- 
ate, 
Cured by wearing a spicier hung round one's neck 

in a nutshell ! " 
Then there were voices heard at the door, and 

footsteps approaching 
Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy 

veranda. 
It was the neighbouring Creoles and small Acadian 

planters, 



EVANGELINE. 57 

Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil 

the Herdsman. 
Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and 

neighbours : 
Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who 

before were as strangers, 
Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to 

each other, 
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country 

together. 
But in the neighbouring hall a strain of music, 

proceeding 
From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious 

fiddle. 
Broke up all further speech. Away, like children 

delighted. 
All tilings forgotten beside, they gave themselves 

to the maddening 
"Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed 

to the music 
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of 

fluttering garments. 

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the 

priest and the herdsman 
Sat, conversing together of past and present and 

future ; 
/ While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for 

within her 
Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the 

music 
Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepress- 
ible sadness 
! Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth 

into the garden. 
Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall 

of the forest, 
Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. 

On the river 



58 EVANGELINE. 

Fell here and there through the branches a tremu- 
lous gleam of the moonlight, 
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and 

devious spirit. 
Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers 

of the garden 
Poured out their souls in odors, that were their 

prayers and confessions 
Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 

Carthusian. 
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 

shadows and night-dews, 
Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the 

magical moonlight 
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable 

longings, 
As, through the garden gate, beneath the brown 

shade of the oak-trees, 
Passed she along the path to the edge of the meas- 
ureless prairie. 
Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire- 
flies 
Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite 

numbers. 
Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the 

heavens, 
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to 

marvel and worship, 
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls 

of that temple, 
As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, 

" Upharsin." 
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and 

the fire-flies, 
Wandered alone, and she cried, — " O Gabriel ! 

O my beloved ! 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot 

behold thee ? 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does 

not reach me ? 



EVANGELINE. 59 

All ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the 

prairie ! 
Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the 

woodlands around me ! 
Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from 

labor, 
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me 

in thy slumbers. 
"When shall these eyes behold, these arms be 

folded about thee ? " 
Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoor- 

i will sounded 
Likfe a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the 

neighbouring thickets, 
Farther and farther away it floated and dropped 

into silence. 
" Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular 

caverns of darkness ; 
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, 

" To-morrow ! " 



Bru 



right rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers 

of the garden 
Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and 

anointed his tresses 
With the delicious balm that they bore in their 

vases of crystal. 
" Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the 

shadowy threshold ; 
" See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from 

his fasting and famine, 
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the 

bridegreom was coming." 
^ Farewell ! " answered the maiden, and, smiling, 

with Basil descended 
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen 

already were waiting. 
Thus beginning their journey with morning, and 

sunshine, and gladness, 



60 EVANGELINE. 

Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was 

speeding before them, 
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the 

desert. 
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that 

succeeded, 
Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or 

river, 
Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but 

vague and uncertain 
Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and 

desolate country ; 
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of 

Adayes, 
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from 

the garrulous landlord, 
That on the day before, with horses and guides 

and companions, 
Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the 

prairies. 



Far in the West there lies a desert land, where 
the mountains 

Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and lum- 
inous summits. 

Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the 
gorge, like a gateway, 

Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emi- 
grant's wagon, 

Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway 
and Owyhee. 

Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind- 
river Mountains, 

Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps 
the Nebraska ; 

And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the 
Spanish sierras, 



EVANGELINE. 61 

Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the 

wind of the desert, 
Nurnbei-less torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend 

to the ocean, 
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn 

vibrations. 
Spreading between these streams are the won- 
drous, beautiful prairies, 
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and 

sunshine, 
Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple 

amorphas. 
Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk 

and the roebuck ; 
Over them wander the wolves, and herds of rider- 
less horses ; 
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are 

weary with travel ; 
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's 

children, 
Staining the desert witii blood ; and above their 

terrible war-trails^ 
Circles and sails aloft^ on pinions majestic, the 

vulture, 
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered 

in battle, 
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the 

heavens. 
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of 

these savage marauders ; 
Here and there rise groves from the margins of 

swift-running rivers ; 
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk 

of the desert, 
Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by 

the brook-side, 
And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline 

heaven. 
Like the protecting hand of God inverted above 

them. 



62 EVANGELINE. 

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark 

Mountains, 
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers 

behind him. 
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden 

and Basil 
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to 

o'ertake him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the 

smoke of his camp-fire 
Rise in the morning air from the distant plain, but 

at nightfall, 
When they had reached the place, they found only 

embers and ashes. 
And, though their hearts were sad at times and 

their bodies were weary, 
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata 

Morgana 
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and 

vanished before them. 

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there 

silently entered 
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose 

features 
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great 

as her sorrow. 
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her 

people, 
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel 

Camanches, 
Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, 

had been murdered. 
Touched were their hearts at her story, and warm- 
est and friendliest welcome 
Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and 

feasted among them 
On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the 

embers. 



EVANGELINE. 63 

But when their meal was done, and Basil and all 

his companions, 
Worn with the long day's march and the chase of 

the deer and the bison, 
Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept 

where the quivering fire-light 
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms 

wrapped up in their blankets, 
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and 

repeated 
Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her 

Indian accent, 
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and 

pains, and reverses. 
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know 

that another 
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been 

disappointed. 
Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and 

woman's compassion, 
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had 

suffered was near her, 
She in turn related her love and all its disas- 
ters. 
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she 

had ended 
Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious 

horror 
Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated 

the tale of the Mowis ; 
Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and 

wedded a maiden, 
But, when the morning came, arose and passed 

from the wigwam, 
Fading and melting away and dissolving into the 

sunshine, 
Till she beheld him no more, though she followed 

far into the forest. 
| Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a 

weird incantation, 



G4 EVANGELINE. 

Told she the tale of the fair Lilinan, who was 

wooed by a phantom, 
That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in 

the hush of the twilight, 
Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love 

to the maiden, 
Till she followed his green and waving plume 

through the forest, 
And never more returned, nor was seen again by 

her people. 
Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evan- 
line listened 
To the soft flow of her magical words, till the 

region around her 
Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy 

guest the enchantress. 
Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the 

moon rose, 
Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious 

splendor 
Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and 

filling the woodland. 
With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and 

the branches 
Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible 

whispers. 
Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's 

heart, but a secret, 
Subtle sense crept in of pain and indefinite ter- 
ror, 
As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest 

of the swallow. 
It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region 

of spirits 
Seemed to float in the air of 'night ; and she felt for 

a moment 
That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing 

a phantom. 
And with this thought she slept, and the fear and 

the phantom had vanished. 



EVANGELIXE. 65 

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; 

and the Shawnee 
Said, as they journeyed along, — " On the western 

slope of these mountains 
Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of 

the Mission. 
Much he teaches the people, and tells them of 

Mary and Jesus ; 
Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with 

pain, as they hear him." 
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evan- 
geline answered, — 
" Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings 

await us ! " 
Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a 

spur of the mountains, 
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur 

of voices, 
And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank 

of a river, 
Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the 

Jesuit Mission. 
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of 

the village, 
Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A 

crucifix fastened 
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed 

by grape-vines, 
Looked with its agonized face on the multitude 

kneeling beneath it. 
This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the 

intricate arches 
Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- 
pers, 
Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs 

of the branches. 
Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer 

approaching, 

VOL. II. 5 



66 EVANGELINE. 



. i 

( Knelt on the swarded ' floor, and joined in the 
evening devotions. 

But when the service was done, and the benedic- 
tion had fallen 

Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from 
the hands of the sower, 

Slowly the reverend man advanced to the stran- 
gers, and bade them 

Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with 
benignant expression, 

Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue 
in the forest, 

And with words of kindness conducted them into 
his wigwam. 

There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on 
cakes of the maize-ear 

Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water- 
gourd of the teacher. 

Soon was their story told ; and the priest with 
solemnity answered : — 

" Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, 
seated 

On this mat by my side, where now the maiden 
reposes, 

Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and con- 
tinued his journey ! " 

Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with 
an accent of kindness ; 

But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in 
winter the snow-flakes 

Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have 
departed. 

" Far to the north he has gone," continued the 
priest ; " but in autumn, 

When the chase is done, will return again to the 
Mission." 

Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek 
and submissive, — 

" Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and 
afflicted." 



EVAXGELIXE. 67 

So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes 

on the morrow, 
Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides 

and companions, 
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed 

at the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each 

other, — 
Days and weeks and months; and the fields of 

maize that were springing 
Green from the ground when a stranger she came, 

now waving above her, 
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, 

and forming 
Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pil- 
laged by squirrels. 
Then in -the golden weather the maize was husked, 

and the maidens 
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened 

a lover, 
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief 

in the corn-field. 
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not 

her lover. 
" Patience ! " the priest would say ; " have faith, 

and thy prayer will be answered ! 
Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from 

the meadow, 
See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as 

the magnet ; 
It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has 

suspended 
Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller's 

journey 
Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the 

desert. 
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of 

passion, 



68 EVANGELINE. 

Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller 

of fragrance, 
But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their 

odor is deadly. 
Only this humble plant can guide us here, and 

hereafter 
Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with 

the dews of nepenthe." 

So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter, 

— yet Gabriel came not ; 
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the 

robin and blue-bird 
Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel 

came not. 
But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor 

was wafted 
Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of 

blossom. 
Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan 

forests, 
Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw 

river. 
And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes 

of St Lawrence, 
Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the 

Mission. 
When over weary ways, by long and perilous 

marches, 
She had attained at length the depths of the Michi- 
gan forests, 
Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to 

ruin ! 

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in 

seasons and places 
Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 

maiden ; — 
Now in the tents of grace of the meek Moravian 

Missions, 



EVANGELINE. 69 

Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of 

the army, 
Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous 

cities. 
Like a phantom she came, and passed away un- 

remembered. 
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the 

long journey ; 
Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it 

ended. 
Each succeeding year stole something away from 

her beauty, 
Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom 

and the shadow. 
Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of 

gray o'er her forehead, 
Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly 

horizon, 
As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the 

morning. 



In that delightful land which is washed by the 

Delaware's waters, 
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 

apostle, 
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the 

city he founded. 
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the 

emblem of beauty, 
And the streets still reecho the names of the trees 

of the forest, 
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose 

haunts they molested. 
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline 

landed, an exile, 
Finding among the children of Penn a home and 

a country. 



70 EVANGELINE. 

There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when he 

departed, 
Saw at his side only one of all his hundred 

descendants. 
Something at least there was in the friendly streets 

of the city, 
Something that spake to her heart, and made her 

no longer a stranger ; 
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou 

of the Quakers, 
For it recalled the past, the old Acadian coun- 
try, 
Where all men were equal, and all were brothers 

and sisters. 
So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed 

endeavour, 
Ended, to recommence no more upon garth, un- 
complaining, 
Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her 

thoughts and her footsteps. 
As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the 

morning 
Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape 

below us, 
Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and 

hamlets, 
So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the 

world far below her, 
Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and 

the pathway 
Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and 

fair in the distance. 
Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was 

his image, 
Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last 

she beheld him, 
Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence 

and absence. 
Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it 

was not. 



EVANGELINE. 71 

Over hiin years had no power ; lie was not changed, 

but transfigured ; 
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, 

and not absent ; 
/ Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to 

others, 
This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 

taught her. 
So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous 

spices, 
Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air 

with aroma. 
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to 

follow 
Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of 

her Saviour. 
Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; 

frequenting 
Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes 

of the city, 
Where distress and want concealed themselves 

from the sunlight, 
Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 

neglected. 
Night after night, when the world was asleep, as 

the watchman repeated 
Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well 

in the city, 
High at some lonely window he saw the light of 

her taper. 
Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 

through the suburbs 
Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and 

fruits for the market, 
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from 

its watchings. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on 
the city, 



72 EVANGELINE. 

Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks 

of wild pigeons, 
Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in 

their craws but an acorn. 
And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of 

September, 
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a 

lake in the meadow, 
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural 

margin, 
Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of 

existence. 
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to 

charm, the oppressor ; 
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his 

anger ; — 
Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor 

attendants, 
Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the 

homeless. 
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of 

meadows and woodlands ; — 
Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gate- 
way and wicket 
Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls 

seem to echo 
Softly the words of the Lord : — " The poor ye 

always have with you." 
Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of 

Mercy. The dying 
Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to 

behold there 
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with 

splendor, 
Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints 

and apostles. 
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a 

distance. 



EVANGELIXE. 73 

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city 

celestial, 
Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits would 

enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, 

deserted and silent, 
Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of 

the almshouse. 
Sweet on the summer air was the o.dor of flowers 

in the garden ; 
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest 

among them, 
That the dying once more might rejoice in their 

fragrance and beauty, 
Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, 

cooled by the east wind. 
Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from 

the belfry of Christ Church, 
While, intermingled with these, across the meadows 

were wafted 
Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes 

in their Church at Wicaco. 
Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour 

on her spirit ; 
f Something within her said, — " At length thy trials 

are ended " ; 
And, with light in her looks, she entered the 

chambers of sickness. 
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful 

attendants, 
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, 

and in silence 
Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and conceal- 
ing their faces, 
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow 

by the road-side. 
Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline 

entered, 



74 EVANGELINE. 

Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she 
passed, for her presence 

Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the 
walls of a prison. 

And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, 
the consoler, 

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it 
forever. 

Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night- 
time ; 

Vacant their places were, or filled already by 
strangers. 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of 

wonder, 
Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while 

a shudder 
Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flow- 
erets dropped from her fingers, 
And from her eyes and cheeks the light and 

bloom of the morning. 
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such 

terrible anguish, 
That the dying heard it, and started up from their 

pillows. 
On the pallet before her was stretched the form of 

an old man. 
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that 

shaded his temples ; 
But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a 

moment 
Seemed to assume once more the forms of its 

earlier manhood ; 
So are wont to be changed the faces of those who 

are dying. 
Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the 

fever, 
As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had 

besprinkled its portals, 



EVANGELINE. 75 

That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and 

pass over. 
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 

exhausted 
Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths 

in the darkness, 
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking 

and sinking. 
Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied 

reverberations, 
Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush 

that succeeded 
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and 

saint-like, 
" Gabriel ! O my beloved ! " and died away into 

silence. 
Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home 

of his childhood ; 
Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among 

them, 
Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walk- 
ing under their shadow, 
As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in 

his vision. 
Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted 

his eyelids, 
Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt 

by his bedside. 
Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the 

accents unuttered 
Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what 

his tongue would have spoken. 
Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling 

beside him, 
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 

bosom. 
Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly 

sank into darkness, 
As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at 

a casement. 



76 EVANGELINE. 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and 

the sorrow, 
11 the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied 

longing, 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 

patience ! 
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to 

her bosom, 
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, 

" Father, I thank thee ! " 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away 

from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers 

are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic 

church-yard, 
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and 

unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside 

them, 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at 

rest and forever, 
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer 

are busy, 
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have 

ceased from their labors, 
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have 

completed their journey ! 

Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the 

shade of its branches 
Dwells another race, with other customs and 

language. 
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 

Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from 

exile 
Wandered back to their native land to die in its 

bosom. 

(77) 



78 EVANGELINE. 

In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are 

still busy ; 
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their 

kirtles of homespun, 
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's 

story, 
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced 

neighbouring ocean 
( Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 

wail of the forest. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

1851. 



PROLOGUE. 

THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL. 

Night and storm. Lucifer, with the Powers of the Air, 
trying to tear down the Cross. 

LUCIFER. 

Hasten ! hasten ! 

O ye spirits ! 

From its station drag the ponderous 

Cross of iron, that to mock us 

Is uplifted high in air ! 

VOICES. 

O, we cannot ! 

For around it 

All the Saints and Guardian Angels 

Throng in legions to protect it ; 

They defeat us everywhere ! 

THE BELLS. 

Laudo Deum verum ! 
Plebem voco ! 
Congrego clerum ! 

LUCIFER. 

Lower ! lower ! 

Hover downward ! 

Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and 

Clashing, clanging, to the pavement 

Hurl them from their windy tower ! 

VOL. II. 6 (81) 



82 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



All thy thunders 

Here are harmless ! 

For these bells have been anointed, 

And baptized with holy water ! 

They defy our utmost power. 

THE BELLS. 

Defunctos ploro ! 
Pestem fugo ! 
Festa decoro ! 



Shake the casements ! 

Break the painted 

Panes, that flame with gold and crimson ; 

Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, 

Swept away before the blast ! 



O, we cannot ! 

The Archangel 

Michael flames from every window, 

With the sword of fire that drove us 

Headlong, out of heaven, aghast ! 

THE BELLS. 

Fun era plan go ? 



Fulgura frango ! 
Sabbata pango ! 



Aim your lightnings 

At the oaken, 

Massive, iron-studded portals ! 

Sack the house of God, and scatter 

Wide the ashes of the dead ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 83 



O, we cannot ! 

The Apostles 

And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, 

Stand as warders at the entrance, 

Stand as sentinels o'erhead ! 

THE BELLS. 

Excito lentos ! 
Dissipo ventos ! 
Paco cruentos ! 



Baffled ! baffled ! 

Inefficient, 

Craven spirits ! leave this labor 

Unto Time, the great Destroyer ! 

Come away, ere night is gone ! 

VOICES. 

Onward ! onward ! 

With the night-wind, 

Over field and farm and forest, 

Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, 

Blighting all we breathe upon ! 

They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant. 

CHOIR. 

Nocte surgentes 
Vigilemus omnes ! 



THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. 

A chamber in a tower. Prince Henry, sluing alone, ill 
and restless. Midnight. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I cannot sleep ! my fervid brain 

Calls up the vanished Past again, 

And throws its misty splendors deep 

Into the pallid realms of sleep ! 

A breath from that far-distant shore 

Comes freshening ever more and more, 

And wafts o'er intervening seas 

Sweet odors from the Hesperides ! 

A wind, that through the corridor 

Just stirs the curtain, and no more, 

And, touching the asolian strings, 

Faints with the burden that it brings ! 

Come back ! ye friendships long departed ! 

That like o'erflowing streamlets started, 

And now are dwindled, one by one, 

To stony channels in the sun ! 

Come back ! ye friends, whose lives are ended, 

Come back, with all that light attended, 

Which seemed to darken and decay 

When ye arose and went away ! 

They come, the shapes of joy and woe, 
The airy crowds of long-ago, 

(84) 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 85 

The dreams and fancies known of yore, 
That have been, and shall be no more. 
They change the cloisters of the night 
Into a garden of delight ; 
They made the dark and dreary hours 
Open and blossom into flowers ! 
I would not sleep ! I love to be 
Again in their fair company ; 
But ere my lips can bid them stay, 
They pass and vanish quite away ! 
Alas ! our memories may retrace 
Each circumstance of time and place, 
Season and scene come back again, 
And outward things unchanged remain ; 
The rest we cannot reinstate ; 
Ourselves we cannot re-create, 
Nor set our souls to the same key 
Of the remembered harmony ! 

Kest ! rest ! O, give me rest and peace ! 
The thought of life that ne'er shall cease 
Has somethirfg in it like despair, 
A weight I am too weak to bear ! 
Sweeter to this afflicted breast 
The thought of never-ending rest ! 
Sweeter the undisturbed and deep 
Tranquillity of endless sleep ! 

A flash of lightning, out of which Lucifer appears, in the 
garb of a travelling Physician. 

LUCIFER. 

All hail, Prince Henry ! 

prince henry, starting. 

Who is it speaks ? 
Who and what are you ? 



One who seeks 
A moment's audience with the Prince. 



86 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

When came you in ? 

LUCIFER. 

A moment since. 
I found your study door unlocked, 
And thought you answered when I knocked. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I did not hear you. 



You heard the thunder ; 
It was loud enough to waken the dead. 
And it is not a matter of special wonder 
That, when God is walking overhead, 
You should not hear my feeble tread. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

What may your wish or purpose be ? 

LUCIFER. 

Nothing or every thing, as it pleases 
Your Highness. You behold in me 
Only a travelling Physician ; 
One of the few who have a mission 
To cure incurable diseases, 
Or those that are called so. 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Can you bring 
The dead to life ? 

LUCIFER. 

Yes ; very nearly. 
And, what is a wiser and better thing, 
Can keep the living from ever needing 
Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, 
By showing conclusively and clearly 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 87 

That death is a stupid blunder merely, 

And not a necessity of our lives. 

My being here is accidental; 

The storm, that against your casement drives, 

In the little village below waylaid me. 

And there I heard, with a secret delight, 

Of your maladies physical and mental, 

Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. 

And I hastened hither, though late in the night, 

To proffer my aid ! 

prince henry, ironically. 

For this you came ! 
An, how can I ever hope to requite 
This honor from one so erudite ? 



The honor is mine, or will be when 
I have cured your disease. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

But not till then. 

LUCIFER. 

What is your illness ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It has no name. 
A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, 
As in a kiln, burns in my veins, 
Sending up vapors to the head ; 
My heart has become a dull lagoon, 
Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains ; 
I am accounted as one who is dead, 
And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon. 



And has Gordonius the Divine, 
In his famous Lily of Medicine, — 



88 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

I see the book lies open before you, — 
No remedy potent enough to restore you ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

None whatever ! 

LUCIFER. 

The dead are dead, 
And their oracles dumb, when questioned 
Of the new diseases that human life 
Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. 
Consult the dead upon things that were. 
But the living only on things that are. 
Have you done this, by the appliance 
And aid of doctors ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ay, whole schools 
Of doctors, with their learned rules ; 
But the case is quite beyond their science. 
Even the doctors of Salern 
Send me back word they can discern 
No cure for a malady like this, 
Save one which in its nature is 
Impossible, and cannot be ! 

LUCIFER. 

That sounds oracular ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Unendurable ! 

LUCIFER. 

What is their remedy ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

You shall see ; 
Writ in this scroll is the mystery. 

lucifer, reading. 
" Not to be cured, yet not incurable ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

The only remedy that remains 

Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins, 

"Who of her own free will shall die, 

And give her life as the price of yours ! " 

That is the strangest of all cures, 

And one, I think, you will never try ; 

The prescription you may well put by, 

As something impossible to find 

Before the world itself shall end ! 

And yet who knows ? One cannot say 

That into some maiden's brain that kind 

Of madness will not find its way. 

Meanwhile permit me to recommend, 

As the matter admits of no delay, 

My wonderful Catholicon, 

Of very subtile and magical powers. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal 
The spouts and gargoyles of these towers, 
Not me ! My faith is utterly gone 
In every power but the Power Supernal ! 
Pray tell me, of what school are you ? 



Both of the Old and of the New ! 
The school of Hermes Trismegistus, 
Who uttered his oracles sublime 
Before the Olympiads, in the dew 
Of the early dawn and dusk of Time, 
The reign of dateless old Hephaestus ! 
As northward, from its Nubian springs, 
The Nile, forever new and old, 
Among the living and the dead, 
Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled ; 
So, starting from its fountain-head 
Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, 
From the dead demigods of eld, 
Through long, unbroken lines of kings 



90 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Its course the sacred art has held, 
Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices. 
This art the Arabian Geber taught, 
And in alembics, finely wrought, 
Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered 
The secret that so long had hovered 
Upon the misty verge of Truth, 
The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, 
Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech ! 
Like him, this wondrous lore I teach ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

What ! an adept ? 

LUCIFER. 

Nor less, nor more ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am a reader of your books, 

A lover of that mystic lore ! 

With such a piercing glance it looks 

Into great Nature's open eye, 

And sees within it trembling lie 

The portrait of the Deity ! 

And yet, alas ! with all my pains, 

The secret and the mystery 

Have baffled and eluded me, 

Unseen the grand result remains ! 

lucifer, showing a flask. 

Behold it here ! this little flask 
Contains the wonderful quintessence, 
The perfect flower and efflorescence, 
Of all the knowledge man can ask ! 
Hold it up thus against the light ! 

prince henry. 

How limpid, pure, and crystalline, 
How quick, and tremulous, and bright 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

The little wavelets dance and shine, 
As were it the Water of Life in sooth ! 



It is ! It assuages every pain, 
Cures all disease, and gives again 
To age the swift delights of youth. 
Inhale its fragrance. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is sweet. 
A thousand different odors meet 
And mingle in its rare perfume, 
Such as the winds of summer waft 
At open windows through a room ! 

LUCIFER. 

Will you not taste it ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Will one draught 
Suffice ? 

LUCIFER. 

If not, you can drink more. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Into this crystal goblet pour 
So much as safely I may drink. 

lucifer, pouring. 

Let not the quantity alarm you ; 

You may drink all ; it will not harm you. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am as one who on the brink 
Of a dark river stands and sees 
The waters flow, the landscape dim 
Around liim waver, wheel, and swim, 
And, ere he plunges, stops to think 



92 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Into what whirlpools he may sink; 
One moment pauses, and no more, 
Then madly plunges from the shore ! 
Headlong into the mysteries 
Of life and death I boldly leap, 
Nor fear the fateful current's sweep, 
Nor what in ambush lurks below ! 
For death is better than disease ! 

An Angel with an ceolian harp hovers in the air. 

ANGEL. 

Woe ! woe ! eternal woe ! 

Not only the whispered prayer 

Of love, _ 

But the imprecations of hate, 

Reverberate 

Forever and ever through the air 

Above ! 

This fearful curse 

Shakes the great universe ! 

lucifee, disappearing. 
Drink ! drink ! 
And thy soul shall sink 
Down into the dark abyss, 
Into the infinite abyss, 
From which no plummet nor rope 
Ever drew up the silver sand of hope ! 

prince henry, drinking. 

It is like a draught of fire ! 

Through every vein 

I feel again 

The fever of youth, the soft desire ; 

A rapture that is almost pain 

Throbs in my heart and fills my brain ! 

O j°y ' O joy ! I feel 

The band of steel 

That so long and heavily has pressed 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 93 

Upon my breast 

Uplifted, and the malediction 

Of my affliction 

Is taken from me, and my weary breast 

At length finds rest. 



THE ANGEL. 

It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air has 

been taken ! 
It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is 

not shaken ! 
It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and 

the flow ! 
It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws 

that blow ! 
With fiendish laughter, 
Hereafter, 
This false physician 
"Will mock thee in thy perdition. 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Speak ! speak ! 

Who says that I am ill ? 

I am not ill ! I am not weak ! 

The trance, $$e swoon, the dream, is o'er ! 

I feel the chill of death no more ! 

At length, 

I stand renewed in all my strength ! 

Beneath me I can feel 

The great earth stagger and reel, 

As if the feet of a descending God 

Upon its surface trod, 

And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel ! 

This, O brave physician ! this 

Is thy great Palingenesis ! 

Drinks again. 



94 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

THE ANGEL. 

Touch the goblet no more ! 

It will make thy heart sore 

To its very core ! 

Its perfume is the breath 

Of the Angel of Death, 

And the light that within it lies 

Is the flash of his evil eyes. 

Beware ! O, beware ! 

For sickness, sorrow, and care 

All are there ! 

prince henry, sinking back. 

thou voice within my breast ! 
Why entreat me, why upbraid me, 
When the steadfast tongues of truth 
And the flattering hopes of youth 
Have all deceived me and betrayed me ? 
Give me, give me rest, O, rest ! 
Golden visions wave and hover, 
Golden vapors, waters streaming, 
Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming ! 

1 am like a happy lover 

Who illumines life with dreaming ! 
Brave physician ! Rare physician ! 
Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission ! 

His head falls on his booh. 

the angel, receding. 

Alas ! alas ! 

Like a vapor the golden vision 

Shall fade and pass, 

And thou wilt find in thy heart again 

Only the blight of pain, 

And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition ! 



THE GOLDEX LEGEXD. 95 

COURT- YARD OF THE CASTLE. 
Hubert standing by the gateway. 

HUBERT. 

How sad the grand old castle looks ! 
O'erhead, the unmolested rooks 
Upon the turret's windy top 
Sit, talking of the farmer's crop ; 
Here in the court-yard springs the grass, 
So few are now the feet that pass ; 
The stately peacocks, bolder grown, 
Come hopping down the steps of stone, 
As if the castle were their own ; 
And I, the poor old seneschal, 
Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. 
Alas ! the merry guests no more 
Crowd through the hospitable door ; 
No eyes with youth and passion shine, 
No cheeks grow redder than the wine ; 
No song, no laugh, no jovial din 
Of drinking wassail to the pin ; 
But all is silent, sad, and drear, 
And now the only sounds I hear 
Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, 
And horses stamping in their stalls ! 



A horn 

What ho ! that merry, sudden blast 
Reminds me of the days long past ! 
And, as of old resounding, grate 
The heavy hinges of the gate, 
And, clattering loud, with iron clank, 
Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, 
As if it were in haste to greet 
The pressure of a traveller's feet ! 



9G THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Enter Walter the Minnesinger. 

WALTER. 

How now, my friend ! This looks quite lonely ! 

No banner flying from the walls, 

No pages and no seneschals, 

No warders, and one porter only ! 

Is it you, Hubert V 

HUBERT. 

Ah ! Master Walter ! 



Alas ! how forms and faces alter ! 

I did not know you. You look older ! 

Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, 

And you stoop a little in the shoulder ! 



Alack ! I am a poor old sinner, 

And, like these towers, begin to moulder : 

And you have been absent many a year ! 

WALTER. 

How is the Prince ? 



He is not here ; 
He has been ill : and now has fled. 



Speak it out frankly : say he 's dead ! 
Is it not so ? 

HUBERT. 

No ; if you please ; 
A strange, mysterious disease 
Fell on him with a sudden blight. 
Whole hours together he would stand 
Upon the terrace, in a dream, 
Resting his head upon his hand, 



THE GOLDEX LEGEND. 97 

Best pleased when he was most alone, 

Like St. John Neponiuck in stone, 

Looking down into a stream. 

In the Round Tower, night after night, 

He sat, and bleared his eyes with books , 

Until one morning we found him there 

Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon 

He had fallen from his chair. 

We hardly recognized his sweet looks ! 



Poor Prince ! 

HUBERT. 

I think he might have mended ; 
And he did mend ; but very soon 
The Priests came flocking in, like rooks, 
With all their crosiers and their crooks, 
And s&at last the matter ended. 



How did it end ? 



Why, in Saint Rochus 
They made him stand, and wait his doom ; 
And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, 
Began to mutter their hocus-pocus. 
First, the Mass for the Dead they chaunted, 
Then three times laid upon his head 
A shovelful of church-yard clay, 
Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, 
" This is a sign that thou art dead, 
So in thy heart be penitent ! " 
And forth from the chapel door he went 
Into disgrace and banishment, 
Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, 
And bearing a wallet, and a bell, 
Whose sound should be a perpetual knell 
To keep all travellers away. 
vol. ir. 7 



98 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



O, horrible fate ! Outcast, rejected, 
As' one with pestilence infected ! 



Then was the family tomb unsealed, 
And broken helmet, sword and shield, 
Buried together, in common wreck, 
As is the custom, when the last 
Of any princely house has passed, 
And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, 
A herald shouted down the stair 
The words of warning and despair, — 
" O Hoheneck ! O Hoheneck ! " 



Still in my soul that cry goes on, — 

Forever gone ! forever gone ! 

Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, 

Like a black shadow, would fall across 

The hearts of all, if he should die ! 

His gracious presence upon earth 

Was as a fire upon a hearth ; 

As pleasant songs, at morning sung, 

The words that dropped from his sweet tongue 

Strengthened our hearts ; or, heard at night, 

Made all our slumbers soft and light. 

Where is he ? 



In the Odenwald. 
Some of his tenants, unappalled 
By fear of death, or priestly word, — 
A holy family, that make 
Each meal a Supper of the Lord, — 
Have him beneath their watch and ward, 
For love of him, and Jesus' sake ! 
Pray you come in. For why should 1 
With out-door hospitality 
My prince's friend thus entertain ? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 99 

WALTER. 

I would a moment here remain. 
But you, good Hubert, go before, 
Fill me a goblet of May-drink, 
As aromatic as the May 
From which it steals the breath away, 
And which he loved so well of yore ; 
It is of him that I would think. 
You shall attend me, when I call, 
In the ancestral banquet-hall. 
Unseen companions, guests of air, 
You cannot wait on, will be there ; 
They taste not food, they drink not wine, 
But their soft eyes look into mine, 
And their lips speak to me, and all 
The vast and shadowy banquet-hall 
Is full of looks and words divine ! 

Leaning over the parapet. 

The day is done ; and slowly from the scene 
The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts. 
And puts them back into his golden quiver ! 
Below me in the valley, deep and green 
As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts 
We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river 
Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions, 
Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent, 
And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent ! 
Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and still, 
As when the vanguard of the Roman legions 
First saw it from the top of yonder hill ! 
How beautiful it is ! Fresh fields of wheat, 
Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag, 
The consecrated chapel on the crag, 
And'the white hamlet gathered round its base, 
Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, 
And looking up at his beloved face ! 
O friend ! O best of friends ! Thy absence more 
Than the impending night darkens the landscape 
o'er! 



100 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



II. 

A FARM IN THE ODENWALD. 

A garden ; morning ; Prince Henky seated, with a book. 
Elsie, at a distance, gathering flowers. 

Prince Henry, reading. 
One morning, all alone, 
Out of his convent of gray stone, 
Into the forest older, darker, grayer, 
His lips moving as if in prayer, 
His head sunken upon his breast 
As in a dream of rest, 
Walked the Monk Felix. All about 
The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, 
Filling the summer air ; 
And within the woodlands as he trod, 
The twilight was like the Truce of God 
With worldly woe and care ; 
Under him lay the golden moss ; 
And above him the boughs of hemlock-trees 
Waved, and made the sign of the cross, 
And whispered their Benedicites ; 
And from the ground 
Rose an odor sweet and fragrant 
Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant 
Vines that wandered, 
Seeking the sunshine, round and round. 

These he heeded not, but pondered 
On the volume in his hand, 
A volume of Saint Augustine, 
Wherein he read of the unseen 
Splendors of God's great town 
In the unknown land., 
And, with his eyes cast down 
In humility, he said : 
" I believe, O God, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 101 

What herein I have read, 

But alas ! I do not understand ! " 

And lo ! he heard 

The sudden singing of a bird, 

A snow-white bird, that from a cloud 

Dropped down, 

And among the branches brown 

Sat singing 

So sweet, and clear, and loud, 

It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing. 

And the Monk Felix closed his book, 

And long, long, 

With rapturous look, 

He listened to the song, 

And hardly breathed or stirred, 

Until he saw, as in a vision, 

The land Ely si an, 

And in the heavenly city heard 

Angelic feet 

Fall on the golden flagging of the street. 

And he would fain 

Have caught the wondrous bird, 

But strove in vain ; 

For it flew away, away, 

Far over hill and dell, 

And instead of its sweet singing 

He heard the convent bell 

Suddenly in the silence ringing 

For the service of noonday. 

And he retraced 

His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. 

In the convent there was a change ! 
He looked for each well-known face, 
But the faces were new and strange ; 
New figures sat in the oaken stalls, 
New voices chaunted in the choir ; 
Yet the place was the same place, 
The same dusky walls 



102 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Of cold, gray stone, 

The same cloisters and belfry and spire. 

A stranger and alone 

Among that brotherhood 

The Monk Felix stood. 

" Forty years," said a Friar, 

" Have I been Prior 

Of this convent in the wood, 

But for that space 

Never have I beheld thy face ! " 

The heart of the Monk Felix fell : 

And he answered, with submissive tone, 

" This morning, after the hour of Prime, 

I left my cell, 

And wandered forth alone, 

Listening all the time 

To the melodious singing 

Of a beautiful white bird, 

Until I heard 

The bells of the convent ringing 

Noon from their noisy towers. 

It was as if I dreamed ; 

For what to me had seemed 

Moments only, had been hours ! " 

" Years ! " said a voice close by. 

It was an aged monk who spoke, 

From a bench of* oak 

Fastened against the wall ; — 

He was the oldest monk of all. 

For a whole century 

Had be been there, 

Serving God in prayer, 

The meekest and humblest of his creatures. 

He remembered well the features 

Of Felix, and he said, 

Speaking distinct and slow : 

" One hundred years ago, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 103 

When I was a novice in this place, 

There "was here a monk, full of God's grace, 

"Who bore the name 

Of Felix, and this man must be the same." 

And straightway 

They brought forth to the light of day 

A volume old and brown, 

A huge tome, bound 

In brass and wild-boar's hide, 

Wherein were written down 

The names of all Avho had died 

In the convent, since it was edified. 

And there they found, 

Just as the old monk said, 

That on a certain day and date, 

One hundred years before, 

Had gone forth from the convent gate 

The Monk Felix, and never more 

Had entered that sacred door. 

He had been counted among the dead ! 

And they knew, at last, 

That, such had been the power 

Of that celestial and immortal song, 

A hundred years had passed, 

And had not seemed so long 

As a single hour ! 

elsie comes in with flowers. 

ELSIE. 

Here are flowers for you, 
But they are not all for you. 
Some of them are for the Virgin 
And for Saint Cecilia. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

As thou standest there, 
Thou seemest to me like the angel 
That brought the immortal roses 
To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. 



104 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



But these will fade. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Themselves will fade, 

But not their memory, 

And memory has the power 

To re-create them from the dust. 

They remind me, too, 

Of martyred Dorothea, 

Who from celestial gardens sent 

Flowers as her witnesses 

To him who scoffed and doubted. 



Do you know the story 

Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter ? 

That is the prettiest legend of them all. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Then tell it to me. 

But first come hither. 

Lay the flowers down beside me, 

And put both thy hands in mine. 

Now tell me the story. 



Early in the morning 
The Sultan's daughter 
Walked in her father's garden, 
Gathering the bright flowers, 
All full of dew. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Just as thou hast been doing 



ELSIE. 

And as she gathered them, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 105 



She wondered more and more 
Who was the Master of the Flowers, 
And made them grow 
Out of the cold, dark earth. 
" In my heart," she said, 
" I love him ; and for him 
Would leave my father's palace, 
To labor in his garden." 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Dear, innocent child ! 

How sweetly thou recallest 

The long-forgotten legend, 

That in my early childhood 

My mother told me ! 

Upon my brain 

It reappears once more, 

As a birthmark on the forehead 

When a hand suddenly 

Is laid upon it, and removed ! 



And at midnight, 

As she lay upon her bed, 

She heard a voice 

Call to her from the garden, 

And, looking forth from her window, 

She saw a beautiful youth 

Standing among the flowers. 

It was the Lord Jesus ; 

"And she went down to him, 

And opened the door for him ; 

And he said to her, " O maiden I 

Thou hast thought of me with love, 

And for thy sake 

Out of my Father's kingdom 

Have I come hither : 

I am the Master of the Flowers. 

My garden is in Paradise, 



106 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And if thou wilt go with me, 

Thy bridal garland 

Shall be of bright red flowers." 

And then he took from his finger 

A golden ring, 

And asked the Sultan's daughter 

If she would be his bride. 

And when she answered him with love, 

His wounds began to bleed, 

And she said to him, 

" O Love ! how red thy heart is, 

And thy hands are full of roses." 

" For thy sake," answered he, 

" For thy sake is my heart so red, 

For thee I bring these roses. 

I gathered them at the cross 

Whereon I died for thee ! 

Come, for my Father calls. 

Thou art my elected bride ! " 

And the Sultan's daughter 

Followed him to his Father's garden. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie ? 



Yes, very gladly. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Then the Celestial Bridegroom 

Will come for thee also. 

Upon thy forehead he will place, 

Not his crown of thorns, 

But a crown of roses. 

In thy bridal chamber, 

Like Saint Cecilia, 

Thou shalt hear sweet music, 

And breathe the fragrance 

Of flowers immortal ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 107 



Go now and place these flowers 
Before her picture. 



A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. 
Twilight. Ursula spinning. Gottlieb asleep in his chair, 

URSULA. 

Darker and darker ! Hardly a glimmer 
Of light comes in at the window-pane ; 
Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer ? 
I cannot disentangle this skein, 
Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. 
Elsie ! 

Gottlieb, starting. 

The stopping of thy wheel 
Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream. 
I thought I was sitting beside a stream, 
And heard the grinding of a mill, 
When suddenly the wheels stood still, 
And a voice cried 
It startled me, it seemed so near. 



I was calling her ; I want a light. 

I cannot see to spin my flax. 

Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear ? 

elsie, within. 
In a moment ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Where are Bertha and Max ? 

URSULA. 

They are sitting with Elsie at the door. 
She is telling them stories of the wood, 
And the Wolf, and Little Red Ridinghood. 



108 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

GOTTLIEB. 

And where is the Prince ? 



In his room overhead ; 
I heard him walking across the floor, 
As he always does, with a heavy tread. 

Elsie comes in with a lamp. Max and Bertha follow her; 
and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the 
lamps. 

EVENING SONG. 

O gladsome light 
Of the Father Immortal, 
And of the celestial 
Sacred and blessed 
Jesus, our Saviour ! 

Now to the sunset 
Again hast thou brought us ; 
And, seeing the evening 
Twilight, we bless thee, 
Praise thee, adore thee ! 

Father omnipotent ! 
Son, the Life-giver ! 
Spirit, the Comforter ! 
Worthy at all times 
Of worship and wonder ! 

prince henry, at the dooi\ 
Amen ! 

URSULA. 

Who was it said Amen ? 

ELSIE. 

It was the Prince : he stood at the door, 
And listened a moment, as we chaunted 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 109 

The evening song. He is gone again. 
I have often seen him there before. 

URSULA. 

Poor Prince ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

I thought the house was haunted ! 
Poor Prince, alas ! and yet as mild 
And patient as the gentlest child ! 



I love him because he is so good, 
And makes me such fine bows and arrows, 
To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, 
And the red squirrels in the wood ! 

BERTHA. 

I love him, too ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah, yes ! we all 
Love him, from the bottom of our hearts ; 
He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, 
He gave us the horses and the carts, 
And the great oxen in the stall, 
The vineyard, and the forest range ! 
We have nothing to give him but our love ! 



Did he give us the beautiful stork above 

On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

No, not the stork ; by God in heaven, 
As a blessing, the dear, white stork was given ; 
But the Prince has given us all the rest. 
God bless him, and make him well again. 



Would I could do something for his sake, 
Something to cure his sorrow and pain ! 



110 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

GOTTLIEB. 

That no one can ; neither thou nor I, 
Nor any one else. 

ELSIE. 

And must he die ? 

URSULA. 

Yes ; if the dear God does not take 
Pity upon him, in his distress, 
And work a miracle ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Or unless 
Some maiden, of her own accord, 
Offers her life for that of her lord, 
And is willing to die in his stead. 



I will ! 

URSULA. 

Prithee, thou foolish child, be still ! 

Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean ! 



I mean it truly ! 



Down by the mill, in the ravine, 
Hans killed a wolf, the very same 
That in the night to the sheepfold came, 
And ate up my lamb, that was left outside. 

GOTTLIEB. 

I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning 
To the wolves in the forest, far and wide. 

MAX. 

And I am going to have his hide ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. Ill 



I wonder if this is the wolf that ate 
Little Red Ridinghood ! 



O, no! 
That wolf was killed a long while ago. 
Come, children, it is growing late. 



Ah, how I wish I were a man, 

As stout as Hans is, and as strong ! 

I would do nothing else, the whole day long, 

But just kill wolves. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Then go to bed, 
And grow as fast as a little boy can. 
Bertha is half asleep already. 
See how she nods her heavy head, 
And her sleepy feet are so unsteady 
She will hardly be able to creep up stairs. 



Good night, my children. Here's the light. 
And do not forget to say your prayers 
Before you sleep. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Good night ! 

MAX and BERTHA. 

Good night ! 
They go out iciih Elsie. 

URSULA, spinning. 

She is a strange and wayward child, 
That Elsie of ours. She looks so old, 



112 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And thoughts and fancies weird and wild 

Seem of late to have taken hold 

Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

She is like all girls. 



Ah no, forsooth ! 
Unlike all I have ever seen. 
For she has visions and strange dreams, 
And in all her words and ways, she seems 
Much older than she is in truth. 
Who would think her but fourteen ? 
And there has been of late such a change ! 
My heart is heavy with fear and doubt 
That she may not live till the year is out. 
She is so strange, — so strange, — so strange ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

I am not troubled with any such fear ; 
She will live and thrive for many a year. 



ELSIE'S CHAMBER. 

Night. Elsie prayi?ig. 



My Redeemer and my Lord, 
I beseech thee, I entreat thee, 
Guide me in each act and word, 
That hereafter I may meet thee, 
Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, 
With my lamp well trimmed and burning ! 

Interceding 

With these bleeding 

Wounds upon thy hands and side, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 113 

For all who have lived and erred 
Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, 
Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, 
And in the grave hast thou been buried ! 

If my feeble prayer can reach thee, 

O my Saviour, I beseech thee, 

Even as thou hast died for me, 

More sincerely 

Let me follow where thou leadest, 

Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, 

Die, if dying I may give 

Life to one who asks to live, 

And more nearly, 

Dying thus, resemble thee ! 



THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA. 

Midnight. Elsie standing by their bedside, weeping. 



the rushing rain 
Is loud upon roof and window-pane, 
As if the wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, 
Boding evil to me and mine, 
Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train ! 
In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, 
The dogs howl in the yard ; and hark ! 
Some one is sobbing in the dark, 
Here in the chamber ! 

ELSIE. 

It is I. 

URSULA. 

Elsie ! what ails thee, my poor child ? 
VOL. II. 8 



114 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



I am disturbed and much distressed, 
In thinking our dear Prince must die ; 
I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. 

GOTTLIEB. 

What wouldst thou ? In the Power Divine 
His healing lies, not in our own ; 
It is in the hand of God alone. 

ELSIE. 

Nay, he has put it into mine, 
And into my heart ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Thy words are wild ! 

URSULA. 

What dost thou mean ? my child ! my child ! 



That for our dear Prince Henry's sake 
I will myself the offering make, 
And give my life to purchase his. 



Am I still dreaming, or aAvake ? 
Thou speakest carelessly of death, 
And yet thou knowest not what it is. 



'T is the cessation of our breath. 

Silent and motionless we lie ; 

And no one knoweth more than this. 

I saw our little Gertrude die ; 

She left off breathing, and no more 

I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. 

She was more beautiful than before. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 115 

Like violets faded -were her eyes ; 

By this we knew that she was dead. 

Through the open window looked the skies 

Into the chamber where she lay, 

And the wind was like the sound of wings, 

As if angels came to bear her awav. 

Ah ! when I saw and felt 

I found it difficult to stay 

I longed to die, as she had died, 

And go forth with her, side by side. 

The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead, 

And Mary, and our Lord ; and I 

Would follow in humility 

The way by them illumined ! 

URSULA. 

My child ! my child ! thou must not die ! 

ELSIE. 

Why should I live ? Do I not know 
The life of woman is full of woe ? 
Toiling on and on and on, 
With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, 
And silent lips, and in the soul 
The secret longings that arise, 
Which this world never satisfies ! 
Some more, some less, but of the whole 
Not one quite happy, no, not one ! 

URSULA. 

It is the malediction of Eve ! 



In place of it, let me receive 
The benediction of Mary, then. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah, woe is me ! Ah, woe is me ! 
Most wretched am I anions men ! 



116 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

URSULA. 

Alas ! that I should live to see 
Thy death, beloved, and to stand 
Above thy grave ! Ah, woe the day ! 



Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie 

Beneath the flowers of another land, 

For at Salerno, far away 

Over the mountains, over the sea, 

It is appointed me to die ! 

And it will seem no more to thee 

Than if at the village on market-day 

I should a little longer stay 

Than I am used. 

URSULA. 

Even as thou sayest ! 
And how my heart beats, when thou stayest ! 
I cannot rest until my sight 
Is satisfied with seeing thee. 
What, then, if thou wert dead V 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah me ! 
Of our old eyes thou art the light ! 
The joy of our old hearts art thou ! 
And wilt thou die ? 

URSULA. 

Not now ! not now ! 

ELSIE. 

Christ died for me, and shall not I 
Be willing for my Prince to' die ? 
You both are silent ; you cannot speak. 
This said I, at our Saviour's feast, 
After confession, to the priest, 
And even he made no reply. 
Does he not warn us all to seek 
The happier, better land on high, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 117 

Where flowers immortal never wither ; 
And could he forbid me to go thither ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

In God's own time, my heart's delight ! 
When he shall call thee, not before ! 



I heard him call. When Christ ascended 

Triumphantly, from star to star, 

He left the gates of heaven ajar. 

I had a vision in the night, 

And saw him standing at the door 

Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid, 

And beckoning to me from afar. 

I cannot stay ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

She speaks almost 
As if it were the Holy Ghost 
Spake through her lips, and in her stead ! 
What if this were of God ? 



URSULA. 

Ah, then 



Gainsay it dare we not, 



Amen! 
Elsie ! the words that thou hast said 
Are strange and new for us to hear, 
And fill our hearts with doubt and fear. 
Whether it be a dark temptation 
Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, 
We in our blindness cannot say. 
We must think upon it, and pray ; 
For evil and good it both resembles. 
If it be of God, his will be done ! 
May he guard us from the Evil One ! 
How hot thy hand is ! how it trembles ! 
Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. 



118 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

URSULA. 

Kiss me. Good night ; and do not weep ! 

elsie goes out. 
Ah, what an awful thing is this ! 
I almost shuddered at her kiss, 
As if a ghost had touched my cheek, 
I am so childish and so weak ! 
As soon as I see the earliest gray 
Of morning glimmer in the east, 
I will go over to the priest, 
And hear what the good man has to say ! 



A VILLAGE CHURCH. 
A woman kneeling at the confessional. 

the parish priest, from within. 

Go, sin no more ! Thy penance o'er, 
A new and better life begin ! 
God maketh thee forever free 
From the dominion of thy sin ! 
Go, sin no more ! He will restore 
The peace that filled thy heart before, 
And pardon thine iniquity ! 

The ivoman goes out. TJie Priest comes forth, and walks 
sloivly up and down the church. 

blessed Lord ! how much I need 
Thy light to guide me on my way ! 
So many hands, that, without heed, 

Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed ! 
So many feet, that, day by day, 
Still wander from thy fold astray ! 
Unless thou fill me with thy light, 

1 cannot lead thy flock aright ; 
Nor, without thy support, can bear 
The burden of so great a care, 
But am myself a castaway ! 

A pause. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 119 

The day is drawing to its close ; 

And what good deeds, since first it rose, 

Have I presented, Lord, to thee, 

As offerings of my ministry ? 

What wrong repressed, what right maintained, 

What struggle passed, what victory gained, 

What good attempted and attained ? 

Feeble, at best, is my endeavour ! 

I see, but cannot reach, the height 

That lies forever in the light, 

And yet forever and forever, 

When seeming just within my grasp, 

I feel my feeble hands unclasp, 

And sink discouraged into night ! 

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent 

The strife and the discouragement ! 

A pause. 
Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck ? 
Why keep me pacing to and fro 
Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, 
Counting my footsteps as I go, 
And marking with each step a tomb ? 
Why should the world for thee make room, 
And wait thy leisure and thy beck ? 
Thou comest in the hope to hear 
Some word of comfort and of cheer. 
What can I say ? I cannot give 
The counsel to do this and live ; 
But rather, firmly to deny 
The tempter, though his power is strong, 
And, inaccessible to wrong, 
Still like a martyr live and die ! 

A pause. 
The evening air grows dusk and brown ; 
I must go forth into the town, 
To visit beds of pain and death, 
Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, 
And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes 
That see, through tears, the sun go down, 



120 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

But never more shall see it rise. 
The poor in body and estate, 
The sick and the disconsolate, 
Must not on man's convenience wait. 
Goes out. 
Enter Lucifek, as a Priest. 

Lucifer, with a genuflexion, mocking. 

This is the Black Pater-noster. 

God was my foster, 

He fostered me 

Under the book of the Palm-tree ! 

St. Michael was my dame. 

He was born at Bethlehem, 

He was made of flesh and blood. 

God send me my right food, 

My right food, and shelter too, 

That I may to yon kirk go, 

To read upon yon sweet book 

Which the mighty God of heaven shook. 

Open, open, hell's gates ! 

Shut, shut, heaven's gates ! 

All the devils in the air 

The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer ! 

Looking round the church. 
What a darksome and dismal place ! 
I wonder that any man has the face 
To call such a hole the House of the Lord, 
And the Gate of Heaven, — yet such is the word. 
Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, 
Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould ; 
Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, 
Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs ! 
The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons 
Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, 
With about as much real edification 
As if a great Bible, bound in lead, 
Had fallen, and struck them on the head ; 
And I ought to remember that sensation ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 121 

Here stands the holy-water stoup ! 
Holy-water it may be to many, 
But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae ! 
It smells like a filthy fast-day soup ! 
Near it stands the box for the poor ; 
With its iron padlock, safe and sure. 
I and the priest of the parish know 
Whither all these charities go ; 
Therefore, to keep up the institution, 
I will add my little contribution ! 
He puts in money. 
Underneath this mouldering tomb, 
With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass, 
Slumbers a great lord of the village. 
All his life was riot and pillage, 
But at length, to escape the threatened doom 
Of the everlasting, penal fire, 
He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, 
And bartered his wealth for a daily mass. 
But all that afterwards came to pass, 
And whether he finds it dull or pleasant, 
Is kept a secret for the present, 
At his own particular desire. 

And here, in a corner of the wall, 

Shadowy, silent, apart from all, 

With its awful portal open wide, 

And its latticed windows on either side, 

And its step well worn by the bended knees 

Of one or two pious centuries, 

Stands the village confessional ! 

Within it, as an honored guest, 

I will sit me down awhile and rest ! 

Seats himself in the confessional. 
Here sits the priest ; and faint and low, 
Like the sighing of an evening breeze, 
Comes through these painted lattices 
The ceaseless sound of human woe ; 
Here, while her bosom aches and throbs 



122 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

With deep and agonizing sobs, 
That half are passion, half contrition, 
The luckless daughter of perdition 
Slowly confesses her secret shame ! 
The time, the place, the lover's name ! 
Here the grim murderer, with a groan, 
From his bruised conscience rolls the stone, 
Thinking that thus he can atone 
For ravages of sword and flame ! 
Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, 
How a priest can sit here so sedately, 
Reading, the whole year out and in, 
Naught but the catalogue of sin, 
And still keep any faith whatever 
In human virtue ! Never ! never ! 

I cannot repeat a thousandth part 

Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes 

That arise, when with palpitating throes 

The grave-yard in the human heart 

Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest, 

As if he were an archangel, at least. 

It makes a peculiar atmosphere, 

This odor of earthly passions and crimes, 

Such as I like to breathe, at times, 

And such as often brings me here 

In the hottest and most pestilential season. 

To-day, I come for another reason ; 

To foster and ripen an evil thought 

In a heart that is almost to madness wrought, 

And to make a murderer out of a prince, 

A sleight of hand I learned long since ! 

He comes. In the twilight he will not see 

The difference between his priest and me ! 

In the same net was the mother caught ! 

prince henry, entering and hneeling at the confessional. 
Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, 
I come to crave, O Father holy, 
Thy benediction on my head. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 123 

LUCIFER. 

The benediction shall be said 

After confession, not before ! 

'T is a God-speed to the parting guest, 

"Who stands already at the door, 

Sandalled with holiness, and dressed 

In garments pure from earthly stain. 

Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast ? 

Does the same madness fill thy brain ? 

Or have thy passion and unrest 

Vanished forever from thy mind ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

By the same madness still made blind, 
By the same passion still possessed, 
I come again to the house of prayer, 
A man afflicted and distressed ! 
As in a cloudy atmosphere, 
Through unseen sluices of the air, 
A sudden and impetuous wind 
Strides the great forest white with fear, 
And every branch, and bough, and spray 
Points all its quivering leaves one way, 
And meadows of grass, and fields of grain, 
And the clouds above, and the slanting rain, 
And smoke from chimneys of the town, 
Yield themselves to it, and bow down, 
So does this dreadful purpose press 
Onward, with irresistible stress, 
And all my thoughts and faculties, 
Struck level by the strength of this, 
From their true inclination turn, 
And all stream forward to Salern ! 



Alas ! we are but eddies of dust, 
Uplifted by the blast, and whirled 
Along the highway of the world 
A moment only, then to fall 



124 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Back to a common level all, 
At the subsiding of the gust ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

O holy Father ! pardon in me 

The oscillation of a mind 

Unsteadfast, and that cannot find 

Its centre of rest and harmony ! 

For evermore before mine eyes 

This ghastly phantom flits and flies, 

And as a madman through a crowd, 

With frantic gestures and wild cries, 

It hurries onward, and aloud 

Repeats its awful prophecies ! 

Weakness is wretchedness ! To be strong 

Is to be happy ! I am weak, 

And cannot find the good I seek, 

Because I feel and fear the wrong ! 



Be not alarmed ! The Church is kind, 

And in her mercy and her meekness 

She meets half-way her children's weakness, 

Writes their transgressions in the dust ! 

Though in the Decalogue we find 

The mandate written, " Thou shalt not kill ! ' 

Yet there are cases when we must. 

In war, for instance, or from scathe 

To guard and keep the one true Faith ! 

We must look at the Decalogue in the light 

Of an ancient statute, that was meant 

For a mild and general application, 

To be understood with the reservation, 

That, in certain instances, the Right 

Must yield to the Expedient ! 

Thou art a Prince. If thou shouldst die, 

What hearts and hopes would prostrate lie ! 

What noble deeds, what fair renown, 

Into the grave with thee go down ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 125 

What acts of valor and courtesy 
Remain undone, and die with thee ! 
Thou art the last of all thy race ! 
With thee a noble name expires, 
And vanishes from the earth's face 
The glorious memory of thy sires ! 
She is a peasant. In her veins 
Flows common and plebeian blood ; 
It is such as daily and hourly stains 
The dust and the turf of battle plains, 
By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, 
Without reserve, and without reward, 
At the slightest summons of their lord ! 
But thine is precious ; the fore-appointed 
Blood of kings, of God's anointed ! 
Moreover, what has the world in store 
For one like her, but tears and toil ? 
Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, 
A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, 
And her soul within her sick and sore 
With the roughness and barrenness of life ! 
I marvel not at the heart's recoil 
From a fate like this in one so tender, 
Nor at its eagerness to surrender 
All the wretchedness, want, and woe 
That await it in this world below, 
For the unutterable splendor 
Of the world of rest beyond the skies. 
So the Church sanctions the sacrifice : 
Therefore inhale this healing balm, 
And breathe this fresh life into thine ; 
Accept the comfort and the calm 
She offers, as a gift divine ; 
Let her fall down and anoint thy feet 
With the ointment costly and most sweet 
Of her young blood, and thou shalt live. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And will the righteous Heaven forgive V 



126 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

No action, whether foul or fair, 

Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere 

A record, written by fingers ghostly, 

As a blessing or a curse, and mostly 

In the greater weakness or greater strength 

Of the acts which follow it, till at length 

The wrongs of ages are redressed, 

And the justice of God made manifest ! 

LUCIFER. 

In ancient records it is stated 

That, whenever an evil deed is done, 

Another devil is created 

To scourge and torment the offending one ! 

But evil is only good perverted, 

And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, 

But an angel fallen and deserted, 

Thrust from his Father's house with a curse 

Into the black and endless night. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

If justice rules the universe, 
From the good actions of good men 
Angels of light should be begotten, 
And thus the balance restored asjain. 



Yes ; if the world were not so rotten, 
And so given over to the Devil ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

But this deed, is it good or evil ? 

Have I thine absolution free 

To do it, and without restriction V 

LUCIFER. 

Ay ; and from whatsoever sin 

Lieth around it and within, 

From all crimes in which it may involve thee, 

I now release thee and absolve thee ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 127 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Give me thy holy benediction. 

LUCIFER, stretching forth his hand and muttering. 

Maledictione perpetua 
Maledicat vos 
Pater eternus ! 

the angel, with the asolian harp. 

Take heed! take heed ! 

]S T oble art thou in thy birth, 

By the good and the great of earth 

Hast thou been taught ! 

Be noble in every thought 

And in every deed ! 

Let not the illusion of thy senses 

Betray thee to deadly offences. 

Be strong ! be good ! be pure ! 

The right only shall endure, 

All things else are but false pretences. 

I entreat thee, I implore, 

Listen no more 

To the suggestions of an evil spirit, 

That even now is there, 

Making the foul seem fair, 

And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit ! 



A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. 
GOTTLIEB. 

It is decided ! For many days, 

And nights as many, we have had 

A nameless terror in our breast, 

Making us timid, and afraid 

Of God, and his mysterious ways ! 

We have been sorrowful and sad ; 

Much have we suffered, much have prayed 



128 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

That he would lead us as is best, 
And show us what his will required. 
It is decided ; and we give 
Our child, O Prince, that you may live ! 



It is of God. He has inspired 

This purpose in her ; and through pain, 

Out of a world of sin and woe, 

He takes her to himself again. 

The mother's heart resists no longer ; 

With the Angel of the Lord in vain 

It wrestled, for he was the stronger. 

Gottlieb. 

As Abraham offered long ago 
His son unto the Lord, and even 
The Everlasting Father in heaven 
Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, 
So do I offer up my daughter ! 

Ursula hides her face. 



My life is little, 
Only a cup of water, 
But pure and limpid. 
Take it, O my Prince ! 
Let it refresh you, 
Let it restore you. 
It is given willingly, 
It is given freely ; 
May God bless the gift ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And the giver ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Amen ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I accept it ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 129 



GOTTLIEB. 

Where are the children V 

URSULA. 

They are already asleep. 

GOTTLIEB. 

What if they were dead ? 



IN THE GARDEN. 

ELSIE. 

I have one thing to ask of you. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

What is it ? 
It is already granted. 



Promise me, 
When we are gone from here, and on our way 
Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, 
By word or deed, endeavour to dissuade me 
And turn me from my purpose ; but remember 
That as a pilgrim to the Holy City 
Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon 
Occupied wholly, so would I approach 
The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, 
With my petition, putting off from me 
All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet. 
Promise me this. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Thy words fall from thy lips 
Like roses from the lips of Angelo : and angels 
Might stoop to pick them up ! 
VOL. II. 9 



130 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Will you not promise V 



PRINCE HENRY. 



If ever we depart upon this journey, 
So long to one or both of us, I promise. 



Shall we not go, then ? Have you lifted me 
Into the air, only to hurl me back 
Wounded upon the ground ? and offered me 
The waters of eternal life, to bid me 
Drink the polluted puddles of this world ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

O Elsie ! what a lesson thou dost teach me ! 

The life which is, and that which is to come, 

Suspended hang in such nice equipoise 

A breath disturbs the balance ; and that scale 

In which we throw our hearts preponderates, 

And the other, like an empty one, flies up, 

And is accounted vanity and air ! 

To me the thought of death is terrible, 

Having such hold on life. To thee it is not 

So much even as the lifting of a latch ; 

Only a step into the open air 

Out of a tent already luminous 

With light that shines through its transparent walls ! 

O pure in heart ! from thy sweet dust shall grow 

Lilies, upon whose petals will be written 

" Ave Maria " in characters of gold ! 



m. 

A STREET IN STRASBURG. 

Night. Prince Henry wandering alone, wrapped in 
cloak: 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Still is the night. The sound of feet 
Has died away from the empty street, 
And like an artisan, bending down 
His head on his anvil, the dark town 
Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. 
Sleepless and restless, I alone, 
In the dusk and damp of these walls of stone, 
Wander and weep in my remorse ! 

crier of the dead, ringing a bell. 
Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

prince henry. 
Hark ! with what accents loud and hoarse 
This warder on the walls of death 
Sends forth the challenge of his breath ! 
I see the dead that sleep in the grave ! 
They rise up and their garments wave, 
Dimly and spectral, as they rise, 
With the light of another world in their eyes ! 

CRIER OF THE DEAD. 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 



132 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Why for the dead, who are at rest ? 
Pray for the living, in whose breast 
The struggle between right and wrong 
Is raging terrible and strong, 
As when good angels war with devils ! 
This is the Master of the Revels, 
Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes 
The health of absent friends, and pledges, 
Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, 
And tinkling as we touch their edges, 
But with his dismal, tinkling bell, 
That mocks and mimics their funeral knell ! 

CRIER OF THE DEAD. 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Wake not, beloved ! be thy sleep 
Silent as night is, and as deep ! 
There walks a sentinel at thy gate 
Whose heart is heavy and desolate, 
And the heavings of whose bosom number 
The respirations of thy slumber, 
As if some strange, mysterious fate 
Had linked two hearts in one, and mine 
Went madly wheeling about thine, 
Only with wider and wilder sweep ! 

crier of the dead, at a distance. 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 133 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Lo ! with what depth of blackness thrown 

Against the clouds, far up the skies 

The walls of the cathedral rise, 

Like a mysterious gi*ove of stone, 

With fitful lights and shadows blending, 

As from behind, the moon, ascending, 

Lights its dim isles and paths unknown ! 

The wind is rising ; but the boughs 

Rise not and fall not with the wind 

That through their foliage sobs and soughs ; 

Only the cloudy rack behind, 

Drifting onward, wild and ragged, 

Gives to each spire and buttress jagged 

A seeming motion undefined. 

Below on the square, an armed knight, 

Still as a statue and as white, 

Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver 

Upon the points of his armor bright 

As on the ripples of a river. 

He lifts the visor from his cheek, 

And beckons, and makes as he would speak. 

walter the Ifmnesinger. 

Friend ! can you tell me where alight 
Thuringia's horsemen for the night ? 
For I have lingered in the rear, 
And wander vainly up and down. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am a stranger in the town, 
As thou art ; but the voice I hear 
Is not a stranger to mine ear. 
Thou art Walter of the Vosrelweid ! 



Thou hast guessed rightly ; and thy name 
Is Henry of Hoheneck ! 



134 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ay, the same. 

Walter, embracing him. 

Come closer, closer to my side ! 
What brings thee hither ? What potent charm 
Has drawn thee from thy German farm 
Into the old Alsatian city ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A tale of wonder and of pity ! 

A wretched man, almost by stealth 

Dragging my body to Salern, 

In the vain hope and search for health, 

And destined never to return. 

Already thou hast heard the rest. 

But what brings thee, thus armed and dight 

In the equipments of a knight ? 



Dost thou not see upon my breast 
The cross of the Crusaders shine ? 
My pathway leads to Palestine. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ah, would that way were also mine ! 
O noble poet ! thou whose heart 
Is like a nest of singing-birds 
Rocked on the topmost bough of life, 
Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, 
And in the clangor of the strife 
Mingle the music of thy words ? 



My hopes are high, my heart is proud, 
And like a trumpet long and loud, 
Thither my thoughts alt clang and ring ! 
My life is in my hand, and lo ! 
I grasp and bend it as a bow, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 135 

And shoot forth from its trembling string 
An arrow, that shall be, perchance, 
Like the arrow of the Israelite king 
Shot from the window toward the east, 
That of the Lord's deliverance ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

My life, alas ! is what thou seest ! 

O enviable fate ! to be 

Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee 

With lyre and sword, with song and steel ; 

A hand to smite, a heart to feel ! 

Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword, 

Thou givest all unto thy Lord ; 

While I, so mean and abject grown, 

Am thinking of myself alone. 



Be patient : Time will reinstate 
Thy health and fortunes. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

'T is too late ! 
I cannot strive against my fate ! 

WALTER. 

Come with me ; for my steed is weary ; 
Our journey has been long and dreary, 
And, dreaming of his stall, he dints 
With his impatient hoofs the flints. 



■ prince henry, aside. 

I am ashamed, in my disgrace, 
To look into that noble face ! 
To-morrow, Walter, let it be. 

WALTER. 

To-morrow, at the dawn of day, 
I shall again be on my way. 



136 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Come with me to the hostelry, 
For I have many things to say. 
Our journey into Italy 
Perchance together we may make; 
Wilt thou not do it for my sake ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A sick man's pace would but impede 
Thine eager and impatient speed. 
Besides, my pathway leads me round 
To Hirschau, in the forest's bound, 
Where I assemble man and steed, 
And all things for my journey's need. 
Tliey go out. 
lucifer, flying over the city. 

Sleep, sleep, O city ! till the light 
Wakes you to sin and crime again, 
Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, 
I scatter downward through the night 
My maledictions dark and deep. 
I have more martyrs in your walls 
Than God has ; and they cannot sleep ; 
They are my bondsmen and my thralls ; 
Their wretched lives are full of pain, 
Wild agonies of nerve and brain ; 
And every heart-beat, every breath, 
Is a convulsion worse than death ! 
Sleep, sleep, O city ! though within 
The circuit of your walls there lies 
No habitation free from sin, 
And all its nameless miseries ; 
The aching heart, the aching head, 
Grief for the living and the dead, 
And foul corruption of the time, 
Disease, distress, and want, and woe, 
And crimes, and passions that may grow 
Until they ripen into crime I 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 137 



SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL. 

Easter Sunday. Friar Cuthbert preaching to the crowd 
from a pulpit in the open air. Prince Henry and 
Elsie crossing the square. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

This is the day, when from the dead 

Our Lord arose ; and everywhere, 

Out of their darkness and despair, 

Triumphant over fears and foes, 

The hearts of his disciples rose, 

When to the women, standing near, 

The Angel in shining vesture said, 

" The Lord is risen ; he is not here ! " 

And, mindful that the day is come, 

On all the hearths in Christendom 

The fires are quenched, to be again 

Rekindled from the sun, that high 

Is dancing in the cloudless sky. 

The churches are all decked with flowers, 

The salutations among men 

Are but the Angel's words divine, 

" Christ is arisen ! " and the bells 

Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, 

And chaunt together in their towers. 

All hearts are glad ; and free from care 

The faces of the people shine. 

See what a crowd is in the square, 

Gaily and gallantly arrayed ! 

ELSIE. 

Let us go back ; I am afraid ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Nay, let us mount the church-steps here, 

Under the doorway's sacred shadow ; 

We can see all things, and be freer 

From the crowd that madly heaves and presses ! 



138 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



What a gay pageant ! what bright dresses ! 
It looks like a flower-besprinkled meadow. 
What is that yonder on the square ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A pulpit in the open air, 

And a Friar, who is preaching to the crowd 

In a voice so deep and clear and loud, 

That, if we listen, and give heed, 

His lowest words will reach the ear. 

friar cuthbert, gesticulating and cracking a jwstiliori's 
whip. 

What ho ! good people ! do you not hear ? 

Dashing along at the top of his speed, 

Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, 

A courier conies with words of cheer. 

Courier ! what is the news, I pray ? 

" Christ is arisen ! " Whence come you ? " From 

court." 
Then I do not believe it ; you say it in sport. 

Cracks his whip again. 
Ah, here comes another, riding this way ; 
We soon shall know what he has to say. 
Courier ! what are the tidings to-day ? 
" Christ is arisen ! " Whence come you ? " From 

town." 
Then I do not believe it ; away with you, clown. 

Cracks his whip more violently. 
And here comes a third, who is spurring amain ; 
What news do you bring, with your loosehanging 

rein, 
Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with 

foam ? 
" Christ is arisen ! " Whence come you ? " From 

Rome." 
Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed. 
Ride on with the news, at the top of your speed ! 
Great applause among the crowd. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 139 

To come back to my text ! When the news was 

first spread 
That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead, 
Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven ; 
And as great the dispute as to who should carry 
The tidings thereof to the Virgin Mary, 
Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven. 
Old Father Adam was first to propose, 
As being the author of all our woes ; 
But he was refused, for fear, said they, 
He would stop to eat apples on the way ! 
Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, 
Because he might meet with his brother Cain ! 
Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine 
Should delay him at every tavern-sign ; 
And John the Baptist could not get a vote, 
On account of his old-fashioned, camel's-hair coat; 
And the Penitent Thief, who died on the cross, 
Was reminded that all his bones were broken ! 
Till at last, when each in turn had spoken, 
The company being still at a loss, 
The Angel, who rolled away the stone, 
Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone, 
And filled with glory that gloomy prison, 
And said to the Virgin, " The Lord is arisen ! " 

The Cathedral bells ring. 
But hark ! the bells are beginning to chime ; 
And I feel that I am growing hoarse. 
I will put an end to my discourse, 
And leave the rest for some other time. 
For the bells themselves are the best of preachers ; 
Their brazen lips are learned teachers, 
From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, 
Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, 
Shriller than trumpets under the Law, 
Now a sermon and now a prayer. 
The clangorous hammer is the tongue, 
This way, that way, beaten and swung, 
That from mouth of brass, as from'Mouth of Gold, 



140 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

May be taught the Testaments, New and Old. 

And above it the great cross-beam of wood 

Represented the Holy Rood, 

Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung. 

And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung 

Is the mind of man, that round and round 

Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound ! 

And the rope, with its twisted cordage three, 

Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity 

Of Morals, and Symbols, and History ; 

And the upward and downward motions show 

That we touch upon matters high and low ; 

And the constant change and transmutation 

Of action and of contemplation, 

Downward, the Scripture brought from on high, 

Upward, exalted again to the sky ; 

Downward, the literal interpretation, 

Upward, the Vision and Mystery ! 

And now, my hearers, to make an end, 

I have only one word more to say ; 

In the church, in honor of Easter day, 

Will be represented a Miracle Play ; 

And I hope you will all have the grace to attend. 

Christ bring us at last to his felicity ! 

Rax vobiscum ! et Benedicite ! 



IN THE CATHEDRAL. 



Kyrie Eleison ! 
Christe Eleison ! 






I am at home here in my Father's house ! 
These paintings of the Saints upon the walls 
Have all familiar and benignant faces. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 141 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The portraits of the family of God ! 

Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them. 



How very grand it is and wonderful ! 
Never have I beheld a church so splendid ! 
Such columns, and such arches, and such windows, 
So many tombs and statues in the chapels, 
And under them so many confessionals. 
They must be for the rich. I should not like 
To tell my sins in such a church as this. 
Who built it ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A great master of his craft, 
Erwin von Steinbach ; but not he alone, 
For many generations labored with him. 
Children that came to see these Saints in stone, 
As day by day out of the blocks they rose, 
Grew old and died, and still the work went on, 
And on, and on, and is not yet completed. 
The generation that succeeds our own 
Perhaps may finish it. The architect 
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones, 
And with him toiled his children, and their lives 
Were builded, with his own, into the walls, 
As offerings unto God. You see that statue 
Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes 
Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder. 
That is the image of the master, carved 
By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina. 

ELSIE. 

How beautiful is the column that he looks at ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it 
Stand the Evangelists : above their heads 



142 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets, 
And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded 
By his attendant ministers, upholding 
The instruments of his passion. 



O my Lord ! 
Would I could leave behind me upon earth 
Some monument to thy glory, such as this I 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A greater monument than this thou leavest 
In thine own life, all purity and love ! 
See, too, the Rose, above the western portal 
Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colors, 
The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness ! 



And, in the gallery, the long line of statues, 
Christ with his twelve Apostles watching us. 

A Bishop in armor, booted and spurred, 2^sses with his 
train. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

But come away ; we have not time to look. 
The crowd already fills the church, and yonder 
Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, 
Clad like the Angel Gabriel, proclaims 
The Mystery that will now be represented. 



THE NATIVITY. 

A MIRACLE-PLAY. 
INTROITUS. 



Come, good people, all and each, 
Come and listen to onr speech ! 
In your presence here I stand, 
With a trumpet in my hand, 
To announce the Easter Play, 
Which we represent to-day ! 
First of all we shall rehearse, 
In our action and our verse, 
The Nativity of our Lord, 
As written in the old record 
Of the Protevangelion, 
So that he who reads may run ! 
Blows his trumpet. 



I. HEAVEN. 

mercy, at the feet of God. 
Have pity, Lord ! be not afraid 
To save mankind, whom thou hast made, 
Nor let the souls that were betrayed 
Perish eternally ! 

(143) 



144 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

JUSTICE. 

It cannot be, it must not be ! 
When in the garden placed by thee, 
The fruit of the forbidden tree 
He ate, and he must die ! 



Have pity, Lord ! let penitence 
Atone for disobedience, 
Nor let the fruit of man's offence 
Be endless misery ! 

JUSTICE. 

What penitence proportionate 
Can e'er be felt for sin so great ? 
Of the forbidden fruit he ate, 
And damned must he be ! 



He shall be saved, if that within 
The bounds of earth one free from sin 
Be found, who for his kith and kin 
Will suffer martyrdom. 

THE FOUR VIRTUES. 

Lord ! we have searched the world around, 
From centre to the utmost bound, 
But no such mortal can be found ; 
Despairing, back we come. 



No mortal, but a God made man, 
Can ever carry out this plan, 
Achieving what none other can, 
Salvation unto all ! 



GOD. 

Go, then, O my beloved Son ! 
It can by thee alone be done ; 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 145 

By thee the victory shall be won 
O'er Satan and the Fall ! 

Here the Axgel Gabriel shall leave Paradise and fly 
towards the earth ; the jaws of Hell open below, and the 
Devils walk about, making a great noise. 



II. MARY AT THE WELL. 



Along the garden walk, and thence 
Through the wicket in the garden fence, 

I steal with quiet pace, 
My pitcher at the well to fill, 
That lies so deep and cool and still 

In this sequestered place. 
These sycamores keep guard around ; 
I see no face, I hear no sound, 

Save bubblings of the spring, 
And my companions, who within 
The threads of gold and scarlet spin, 

And at their labor sing. 

THE ANGEL GABRIEL. 

Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace ! 

Here Mary looketh around her, trembling, and then saith: 



Who is it speaketh in this place, 
With such a gentle voice ? 

GABRIEL. 

The Lord of heaven is with thee now ! 
Blessed among all women thou, 
Who art his holy choice ! 

mary, setting down the pitcher. 

What can this mean ? No one is near, 
VOL. II. 10 



146 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And yet such sacred words I hear, 
I almost fear to stay. 

Here the Angel, appearing to her, shall say , 



Fear not, O Mary ! but believe ! 
For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive 
A child this very day. 

Fear not, O Mary ! from the sky 
The majesty of the Most High 
Shall overshadow thee ! 

MARY. 

Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! 
According to thy holy word, 
So be it unto me ! 

Here the Devils shall again make a great noise, under the 
stage. 



III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS, 

bearing the Star of Bethlehem. 

THE ANGELS. 

The Angels of the Planets Seven, 
Across the shining fields of heaven 

The natal star we bring ! 
Dropping our sevenfold virtues down, 
As priceless jewels in the crown 

Of Christ, our new-born King. 

RAPHAEL. 

I am the Angel of the Sun, 
Whose flaming wheels began to run 

When God's almighty breath 
Said to the darkness and the Night, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 147 

Let there be light ! and there was light ! 
I bring the gift of Faith. 



I am the Angel of the Moon, 
Darkened, to be rekindled soon 

Beneath the azure cope ! 
Nearest to earth, it is my ray 
That best illumes the midnight way. 

I bring the gift of Hope ! 



The Angel of the Star of Love, 
The Evening Star, that shines above 

The place where lovers be, 
Above all happy hearths and homes, 
On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, 

I give him Charity ! 

ZOBIACHEL. 

The Planet Jupiter is mine ! 

The mightiest star of all that shine, 

Except the sun alone ! 
He is the High Priest of the Dove, 
And sends, from his great throne above, 

Justice, that shall atone ! 



The Planet Mercury, whose place 
Is nearest to the sun in space. 

Is my allotted sphere ! 
And with celestial ardor swift 
I bear upon my hands the gift 

Of heavenly Prudence here ! 

URIEL. 

I am the Minister of Mars, 
The strongest star among the stars ! 
My songs of power prelude 



148 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

The march and battle of man's life, 
And for the suffering and the strife, 
I give him Fortitude ! 

OKIFEL. 

The Angel of the uttermost 

Of all the shining, heavenly host, 

From the far-off expanse 
Of the Saturnian, endless space 
I bring the last, the crowning grace, 

The gift of Temperance ! 

A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable in the 
village below. 



IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. 

The stable of the Inn. The Virgin and Child. Three 
Gipsy Kings, Gasper, Melchior, and Belshazzak, 
shall come in. 

GASPAR. 

Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth ! 

Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath, 

Thou^art greater than Life and Death, 

Greater than Joy or Woe ! 
This cross upon the line of life 
Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife, 
And through a region with dangers rife 

In darkness shalt thou go ! 

MELCHIOR. 

Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem ! 
Though humbly born in Bethlehem, 
A sceptre and a diadem 

Await thy brow and hand ! 
The sceptre is a simple reed, 
The crown will make thy temples bleed, 
And in thy hour of greatest need, 

Abashed thy subjects stand ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 149 

BELSHAZZAR. 

Hail to tliee, Christ of Christendom ! 
O'er all the earth thy kingdom come ! 
From distant Trebizond to Rome 

Thy name shall men adore ! 
Peace and good-will among all men, 
The Virgin has returned again, 
Returned the old Saturnian reign 

And Golden Age once more. 

THE CHILD CHRIST. 

Jesus, the Son of God, am I, 
Born here to suffer and to die 
According to the prophecy, 
That other men may live ! 

THE VIRGIN. 

And now these clothes, that wrapped him, take 
And keep them precious, for his sake ; 
Our benediction thus we make, 
Naught else have we to give. 

She gives them swaddling-clothes, and they depart. 



V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 

Here shall Joseph come in, leading an ass, on which are 
seated Mary and the Child. 



Here will we rest us, under these 
O'erhanging branches of the trees, 
Where robins chant their Litanies, 
And canticles of Joy. 

JOSEPH. 

My saddle-girths have given way 
With trudging through the heat to-day ; 
To you I think it is but play 
To ride and hold the boy. 






150 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



As if to hail their infant King ! 
I will alight at yonder spring 
To wash his little coat. 

JOSEPH. 

And I will hobble well the ass, 
Lest, being loose upon the grass, 
He should escape ; for, by the mass, 
He is nimble as a goat. 

Here Mary shall alight and go to the spring. 



Joseph ! I am much afraid, 

For men are sleeping in the shade ; 

1 fear that we shall be waylaid, 

And robbed and beaten sore ! 
Here aband of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of whom 
shall rise and come forward. 

DUMACHUS. 

Cock's soul ! deliver up your gold ! 

JOSEPH. 



I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold ! 
Of wealth I have no store. 



DUMACHUS. 

Give up your money ! 

TITUS. 

Prithee cease. 
Let these good people go in peace. 

DUMACHUS. 

First let them pay for their release, 
And then go on their way. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 151 



These forty groats I give in fee, 
If thou wilt only silent be. 

MARY. 

May God be merciful to thee 
Upon the Judgment Day ! 



When thirty years shall have gone by, 

I at Jerusalem shall die, 

By Jewish hands exalted high 

On the accursed tree. 
Then on my right and my left side, 
These thieves shall both be crucified, 
And Titus thenceforth shall abide 

In paradise with me. 

Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the noise of 
a king with his army, and the robbers shall take fight. 



VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS. 
KING HEROD. 

Potz-tausend ! Himmel-sacrament ! 
Filled am I with great wonderment 

At this unwelcome news ! 
Am I not Herod ? Who shall dare 
My crown to take, my sceptre bear, 

As king among the Jews ? 

Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword. 
What ho ! I fain would drink a can 
Of the strong wine of Canaan ! 

The wine of Helbon bring, 
I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, 
As red as blood, as hot as fire, 

And fit for any king ! 

He quaffs great goblets of icine. 
Now at the window will I stand, 



152 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

While in the street the armed band 

The little children slay : 
The babe just born in Bethlehem 
"Will surely slaughtered be with them, 

Nor live another day ! 

Here a voice of lamentation shall be heard in the street 



O wicked king ! O cruel speed ! 
To do this most unrighteous deed ! 
My children all are slain ! 



Ho seneschal ! another cup ! 
With wine of Sorek fill it up ! 
I would a bumper drain ! 



May maledictions fall and blast 
Thyself and lineage, to the last 
Of all thy kith and kin ! 



Another goblet ! quick ! and stir 
Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh 
And calamus therein ! 

soldiers, in the street. 

Give up thy child into our hands ! 
It is King Herod who commands 
That he should thus be slain ! 

THE NURSE MEDUSA. 

O monstrous men ! What have ye done ! 
It is King Herod's only son 
That ye have cleft in twain ! 

HEROD. 

Ah, luckless day ! What words of fear 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 153 

Are these that smite upon my ear 

With such a doleful sound ! 
What torments rack my heart and head ! 
Would I were dead ! would I were dead, 

And buried in the ground ! 

He falls down and writhes as though eaten .by worms. Hell 
opens, and Satan and Astaroth come forth, and drag 
him down. 



VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES. 



The shower is over. Let us play, 
And make some sparrows out of clay, 
Down by the river's side. 



See, how the stream has overflowed 
Its banks, and o'er the meadow road 
Is spreading far and wide ! 

They draw water out of the river by channels, and form 
little pools. Jesus makes twelve sparrows of clay, and the 
other boys do the same. 



Look ! look ! how prettily I make 
These little sparrows by the lake 

Bend down their necks and drink ! 
Now will I make them sing and soar 
So far, they shall return no more 

Unto this river's brink. 



That canst thou not ! They are but clay, 
They cannot sing, nor fly away 
Above the meadow lands ! 



154 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

JESUS. 

Fly, fly ! ye sparrows ! you are free ! 
And while you live, remember me, 

Who made you with my hands. 
Here Jesus shall clap his hands, and the sparroivs shall Jly 
away, chirruping. 



Thou art a sorcerer, I know ; 
Oft has my mother told me so, 
I will not play with thee ! 

He strikes Jesus on the right side. 



Ah, Judas ! thou hast smote my side, 
And when I shall be crucified, 
There shall I pierced be ! 

Here Joseph shall come in, and say : 

JOSEPH. 

Ye wicked boys ! why do ye play, 
And break the holy Sabbath day? 
What, think ye, will your mothers say 

To see you in such plight ! 
In such a sweat and such a heat, 
With all that mud upon your feet ! 
There 's not a beggar in the street 

Makes such a sorry sight ! 

VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 

The Rabbi Ben Israel, ivith a long beard, sitting on a 
high stool, *oith a rod in his hand. 

RABBI. 

I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, 
Throughout this village known full well, 
And, as my scholars all will tell, 
Learned in things divine ; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 155 

The Kabala and Talmud hoar 
Than all the prophets prize I more, 
For water is all Bible lore, 
But Mishna is strong wine. 

My fame extends from West to East, 
And always, at the Purim feast, 
I am as drunk as any beast 

That wallows in his sty ; 
The wine it so elateth me, 
That I no difference can see 
Between " Accursed Haman be ! " 

And " Blessed be Mordecai ! " 

Come hither, Judas Iscariot. 
Say, if thy lesson thou hast got 
From the Rabbinical Book or not. 
Why howl the dogs at night ? 

JUDAS. 

In the Rabbinical Book, it saith 
The dogs howl, when with icy breath 
Great Sammael, the Angel of Death, 
Takes through the town his flight ! 

RABBI. 

Well, boy ! now say, if thou art wise, 
When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes, 
Comes where a sick man dying lies, 
What doth he to the wight ? 

JUDAS. 

He stands beside him, dark and tall, 
Holding a sword, from which doth fall 
Into his mouth a drop of gall, 
And so he turneth white. 



156 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

RABBI. 

And now, my Judas, say to me 
What the great Voices Four may be, 
That quite across the world do flee, 
And are not heard by men ? 



The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome, 
The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, 
The Voice of a Soul that goeth home, 
And the Ansel of the Rain ! 



Well have ye answered every one ! 
Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son, 
Let us see how thy task is done. 
Canst thou thy letters say ? 



Aleph. 

RABBI. 

What next ? Do not stop yet ! 
Go on with all the alphabet. 
Come, Aleph, Beth ; dost thou forget ? 
Cock's soul ! thou 'dst rather play ! 



What Aleph means I fain would know, 
Before I any farther go ! 



O, by Saint Peter ! wouldst thou so ? 

Come hither, boy, to me. 
As surely as the letter Jod 
Once cried aloud, and spake to God, 
So surely shalt thou feel this rod, 

And punished shalt thou be ! 
Here Kabbi Ben Israel shall lift up Ms rod to strike 
Jesus, and his right arm shall be paralyzed. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 157 



IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS. 

Jesus sitting among his playmates, crowned icith flowers 
as their King. 



We spread our garments on the ground ! 
With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned, 
While like a guard we stand around, 

And hail thee as our King ! 
Thou art the new King of the Jews ! 
Nor let the passers-by refuse 
To bring that homage which men use 

To majesty to bring. 
Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay hold 
of his garments and say: 



Come hither ! and all reverence pay 
Unto our monarch, crowned to-day ! 
Then go rejoicing on your way, 
In all prosperity ! 

TRAVELLER. 

Hail to the King of Bethlehem, 
Who weareth in his diadem 
The yellow crocus for the gem 
Of his authority ! 

He passes by; and others come in, bearing on a litter a 
sick child. 



Set down the litter and draw near ! 
The King of Bethlehem is here ! 
What ails the child, Avho seems to fear 
That we shall do him harm '? 



158 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

THE BEARERS. 

He climbed up to the robin's nest, 
And out there darted, from his rest, 
A serpent with a crimson crest, 
And stung him in the arm. 

JESUS. 

Bring him to me, and let me feel 
The wounded place ; my touch can heal 
The sting of serpents, and can steal 
The poison from the bite ! 

He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry. 

Cease to lament ! I can foresee 
That thou hereafter known shalt be, 
Among the men who follow me, 
As Simon the Canaanite ! 



EPILOGUE. 

In the after part of the day 
Will be represented another play, 
Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord, 
Beginning directly after Nones ! 
Atlihe close of which we shall accord, 
By way of benison and reward, 
The sight of a holy Martyr's bones ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 159 



IV. 

THE ROAD TO HIRSCHAU. 

Prince Henry and Elsie, with their attendants, on 

horseback. 

ELSIE. 

Onward and onward the highway runs to the 

_ distant city, impatiently bearing 
Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and 
of hate, of doing and daring ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

This life of ours is a wild seolian harp of many a 

joyous strain, 
But under them all there runs a loud perpetual 

wail, as of souls in pain. 

ELSIE. 

Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart that 

aches and bleeds with the stigma 
Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and 

can comprehend its dark enigma. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure with little care 

of what may betide ; 
Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a 

demon that rides by an angel's side ? 



All the hedges are white with dust, and the great 

dog under the creaking wain 
Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the 

horses toil and strain. 



160 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



PKINCE HENRY. 

Now they stop at the way-side inn, and the wagoner 
laughs with the landlord's daughter, 

While out of the dripping trough the horses distend 
their leathern sides with water. 



ELSIE. 



All through life there are way-side inns, where 
man may refresh his soul with love ; 

Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets 
fed by springs from above. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Yonder, where rises the cross of stone, our journey 

along the highway ends, 
And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into 

the broad green valley descends. 

ELSIE. 

I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten road 
with its dust and heat ; „ 

The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be 
softer under horses' feet. 

They turn down a green lane. 



ELSIE. 



Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the 

valley stretching for miles below 
Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as it just 

covered with lightest snow. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Over our heads a white cascade is gleaming 
against the distant hill ; ,...,„, 

We cannot hear it, nor see it move but it hangs 
like a banner when winds are still. 



THE GOLDEX LEGEND. 161 

ELSIE. 

Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and cool the 

sound of the brook by our side ! 
What is this castle that rises above us, and lords 

it over a land so wide ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is the home of the Counts of Calva ; well have 
I known these scenes of old, 

Well I remember each tower and turret, remem- 
ber the brooklet, the wood, and the wold. 

ELSIE. 

Hark ! from the little village below us the bells of 

the church are ringing for rain ! 
Priests and peasants in long procession come forth 

and kneel on the arid plain. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They have not long to wait, for I see in the south 

uprising a little cloud, 
That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky 

above us as with a shroud. 
They pass on. 



THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE BLACK 
FOREST. 

The Convent cellar. Friar Claus comes in' with a light 
and a basket of empty flagons. 

FRIAR CLAUS. 

I always enter this sacred place 
With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace, 
Pausing long enough on each stair 
To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, 
And a benediction on the vines 
That produce these various sorts of wines ! 
VOL. ii. 11 



162 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

For my part, I am well content 

That we have got through with the tedious Lent ! 

Fasting is all very well for those 

Who have to contend with invisible foes; 

But I am quite sure it does not agree 

With a quiet, peaceable man like me, 

Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind 

That are always distressed in body and mind ! 

And at times it really does me good 

To come down among this brotherhood, 

Dwelling forever under ground, 

Silent, contemplative, round and sound ; 

Each one old, and brown with mould, 

But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth, 

With the latent power and love of truth, 

And with virtues fervent and manifold. 

I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, 

When buds are swelling on every side, 

And the sap begins to move in the vine, 

Then in all the cellars, far and wide, 

The oldest, as well as the newest, wine 

Begins to stir itself, and ferment, 

With a kind of revolt and discontent 

At being so long in darkness pent, 

And fain would burst from its sombre tun 

To bask on the hill-side in the sun ; 

As in the bosom of us poor friars, 

The tumult of half-subdued desires _ 

For the world that we have left behind 

Disturbs at times all peace of mind ! 

And now that we have lived through Lent, 

My duty it is, as often before, 

To open awhile the prison-door, 

And give these restless spirits vent. 

Now here is a cask that stands alone, 
And has stood a hundred years or more, 
Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 163 

Trailing and sweeping along the floor, 

Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, 

Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, 

Till his beard has grown through the table of stone ! 

It is of the quick and not of the dead ! 

In its veins the blood is hot and red, 

And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak 

That time may have tamed, but has not broke ! 

It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, 

Is one of the three best kinds of wine, 

And costs some hundred florins the ohm ; 

But that I do not consider dear, 

When I remember that every year 

Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome. 

And whenever a goblet thereof I drain. 

The old rhyme keeps running in my brain : 
At Bacharach on the Rhine, 
At Hochheim on the Main, 
And at Wiirzburg on the Stein, 
Grow the three best kinds of wine ! 

They are all good wines, and better far 

Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr. 

In particular, Wiirzburg well may boast 

Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, 

Which of all wines I like the most. 

This*T shall draw for the Abbot's drinking, 

Who seems to be much of my way of thinking. 

Fills a flagon. 
Ah ! how the streamlet laughs and sings ! 
What a delicious fragrance springs 
From the deep flagon, while it fills, 
As of hyacinths and daffodils ! 
Between this cask and the Abbot's lips 
Many have been the sips and slips ; 
Many have been the draughts of wine, 
On their way to his, that have stopped at mine ; 
And many a time my soul has hankered 



164 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

For a deep draught out of his silver tankard, 
When it should have been busy with other affairs, 
Less with its longings and more with its prayers. 
But now there is no such awkward condition, 
No danger of death and eternal perdition ; 
So here 's to the Abbot and Brothers all, 
Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul ! 

He drinks. 

O cordial delicious ! O soother of pain ! 
It flashes like sunshine into my brain ! 
A benison rest on the Bishop who sends 
Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends ! 

And now a flagon for such as may ask 

A draught from the noble Bacharach cask, 

And I will be gone, though I know full well 

The cellar 's a cheerfuller place than the cell. 

Behold where he stands, all sound and good, 

Brown and old in his oaken hood ; 

Silent he seems externally 

As any Carthusian monk may be ; 

But within, what a spirit of deep unrest ! 

What a seething and simmering in his breast ! 

As if the heaving of his great heart 

Would burst his belt of oak apart ! 

Let me unloose this button of wood, 

And quiet a little his turbulent mood. 

Sets it running. 

See ! how its currents gleam and shine, 
As if they had caught the purple hues 
Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, 
Descending and mingling with the dews ; 
Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood 
Of the innocent boy, who, some years back, 
Was taken and crucified by the Jews, 
In that ancient town of Bacharach ; 
Perdition upon those infidel Jews, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 165 

In that ancient town of Bacharach ! 
The beautiful town, that gives us wine 
With the fragrant odor of Muscadine ! 
I should deem it wrong to let this pass 
Without first touching my lips to the glass, 
For here in the midst of the current I stand, 
Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river, 
Taking toll upon either hand, 
And much more grateful to the giver. 

He drinks. 

Here, now, is a very inferior kind, 
Such as in any town you may find, 
Such as one might imagine would suit 
The rascal who drank wine out of a boot. 
And, after all, it was not a crime, 
For he won thereby Dorf Hiirfelsheim. 
A jolly old toper ! who at a pull 
Could drink a postilion's jack-boot full, 
And ask with a laugh, when that was done, 
If the fellow had left the other one ! 
This wine is as good as we can afford 
To the friars, who sit at the lower board, 
And cannot distinguish bad from good, 
And are far better off than if they could, 
Being rather the rude disciples of beer 
Than of any thing more refined and dear ! 

Fills the other flagon and departs. 



THE SCRIPTORIUM. 
Friar Pacificus transcribing and illuminating. 

FRIAR PACIFICUS. 

It is growing dark ! Yet one line more, 
And then my work for to-day is o'er. 
I come again to the name of the Lord ! 



166 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Ere I that awful name record, 
That is spoken so ligMy among men, 
Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen ; 
Pure from blemish and blot must it be 
When it writes that word of mystery ! 

Thus have I labored on and on, 

Nearly through the Gospel of John. 

Can it be that from the lips _ 

Of this same gentle Evangelist, 

That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, 

Came the dread Apocalypse ! 

It has a very awful look, 

As it stands there at the end of the book, 

Like the sun in an eclipse. m e 

Ah me ! when I think of that vision divine, 

Think of writing it, line by line, 

I stand in awe of the terrible curse, 

Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse. 

God foroive me ! if ever I 

Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, 

Lest my part too should be taken away 

From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day. 

This is well written, though I say it ! 
I should not be afraid to display it, 
In open dav, on the selfsame shelf 
With the writings of St. Thecla herself, 
Or of Theodosius, who of old 
Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold I 
That goodly folio standing yonder, 
Without a single blot or blunder, 
Would not bear away the palm frorn mine, 
If we should compare them line for line. 

There, now, is an initial letter ! 
Saint Ulric himself never made a better ! 
Finished down to the leaf and the snail, 
Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 107 

And now, as I turn the volume over, 

And see what lies between cover and cover, 

What treasures of art these pages hold, 

All ablaze Avith crimson and gold, 

God forgive me ! I seem to feel 

A certain satisfaction steal 

Into my heart, and into my brain, 

As if my talent had not lain 

Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. 

Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, 

Here is a copy of thy Word, 

Written out with much toil and pain ; 

Take it, O Lord, and let it be 

As something I have done for thee ! 

He looks from the window. 

How sweet the air is ! How fair the scene ! 
I wish I had as lovely a green 
To paint my landscapes and my leaves ! 
How the swallows twitter under the eaves ! 
There, now, there is one in her nest ; 
I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, 
And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook, 
For the margin of my Gospel book. 
He makes a sketch. 

I can see no more. Through the valley yonder 

A shower is passing ; I hear the thunder 

Mutter its curses in the air, 

The Devil's own and only prayer ! 

The dusty road is brown with rain, 

And, speeding on with might and main, 

Hitherward rides a gallant train. 

They do not parley, they cannot wait, 

But hurry in at the convent gate. 

What a fair lady ! and beside her 

What a handsome, graceful, noble rider ! 

Now she gives him her hand to alight ; 

They will beg a shelter for the night. 



168 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

I will go down to the corridor, 

And try to see that face once more ; 

It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, 

Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. 

Goes out. 



THE CLOISTERS. 
The Abbot Ernestus pacing to and fro. 



Slowly, slowly up the wall 
Steals the sunshine, steals the shade ; 
Evening damps begin to fall, 
Evening shadows are displayed. 
Round me, o'er me, everywhere, 
All the sky is grand with clouds, 
And athwart the evening air 
Wheel the swallows home in crowds. 
Shafts of sunshine from the west 
Paint the dusky windows red ; 
Darker shadows, deeper rest, 
Underneath and overhead. 
Darker, darker, and more wan, 
In my breast the shadows fall ; 
Upward steals the life of man, 
As the sunshine from the wall. 
From the wall into the sky, 
From the roof along the spire ; 
Ah, the souls of those that die 
Are but sunbeams lifted higher. 

Enter Prince Henry. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Christ is arisen ! 

ABBOT. 

Amen ! he is arisen ! 
His peace be with you ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 169 



PRINCE HENRY. 



Here it reigns forever ! 
The peace of God, that passeth understanding, 
Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors. 
Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent ? 

ABBOT. 

I am. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, 
Who crave your hospitality to-night. 

ABBOT. 

You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. 
You do us honor ; and we shall requite it, 
I fear, but poorly, entertaining you 
With Paschal eg<rs, and our poor convent wine, 
The remnants of our Easter holidays. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau ? 
Are all things well with them 1 



All things are well. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A noble convent ! I have known it long 

By the report of travellers. I now see° 

Their commendations lag behind the truth. 

You lie here in the valley of the Nagold 

As in a nest : and the still river, glidmg 

Along its bed, is like an admonition 

How all things pass. Your lands are rich and 

ample, 
And your revenues large. God's benediction 
.Rests on your convent. 



170 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

ABBOT. 

By our charities 
We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, 
When he departed, left us in his will, 
As our best legacy on earth, the poor ! 
These we have always with us ; had we not, 
Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

If I remember right, the Counts of Calva 
Founded your convent. 

ABBOT. 

Even as you say. 

TRINCE HENRY. 

And, if I err not, it is very old. 

ABBOT. 

Within these cloisters lie already buried 
Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags 
On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, 
Of blessed memory. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And whose tomb is that, 
Which bears the brass escutcheon ? 

ABBOT. 

A benefactor's. 
Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood 
Godfather to our bells. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Your monks are learned 
And holy men, I trust, 

ABBOT. 

There are among them 
Learned and holy men. Yet in this age 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 171 

We need another Hildebrand, to shake 

And purify us like a mighty wind. 

The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder 

God does not lose his patience with it wholly, 

And shatter it like glass ! Even here, at times, 

Within these walls, where all should be at peace, 

I have my trials. Time has laid his hand 

Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, 

But as a harper lays his open palm 

Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. 

Ashes are on my head, and on my lips 

Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness 

And weariness of life, that makes me ready 

To say to the dead Abbots under us, 

" Make room for me ! " Only I see the dusk 

Of evening twilight coming, and have not 

Completed half my task ; and so at times 

The thought of my short-comings in this life 

Falls like a shadow on the life to come. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

We must all die, and not the old alone ; 

The young have no exemption from that doom. 

ABBOT. 

Ah, yes ! the young may die, but the old must ! 
That is the difference. 

PRIXCE HENRY. 

I have heard much laud 
Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium 
Is famous among all, your manuscripts 
Praised for their beauty and their excellence. 

ABBOT. 

That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, 

You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile 

Shall the Refectorarius bestow 

Your horses and attendants for the night. 

They (join. The Vesper-bell rings. 



172 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



THE CHAPEL. 



Vespers ; after which the monks retire, a chorister leading 
an old monk who is blind. 

PRINCE HENEY. 

They are all gone, save one who lingers, 
Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. 
As if his heart could find no rest, 
At times he beats his heaving breast 
With clenched and convulsive fingers, 
Then lifts them trembling in the air. 
A chorister, with golden hair, 
Guides hitherward his heavy pace. 
Can it be so ? Or does my sight 
Deceive me in the uncertain light ? 
Ah no ! I recognize that face, 
Though Time has touched it in his flight, 
And changed the auburn hair to white. 
It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, 
The deadliest foe of all our race, 
And hateful unto me and mine ! 

THE BLIND MONK. 

Who is it that doth stand so near 
His whispered words I almost hear ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, 
And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine ! 
I know you, and I see the scar, 
The brand upon your forehead, shine 
And redden like a baleful star ! 

THE BLIND MONK. 

Count Hugo once, but now the wreck 
Of what I was. O Hoheneck ! 
The passionate will, the pride, the wrath 
That bore me headlong on my path, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 173 

Stumbled and staggered into fear, 

And failed me in my mad career, 

As a tired steed some evil-doer, 

Alone upon a desolate moor. 

Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, 

And hearing loud and close behind 

The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. 

Then suddenly from the dark there came 

A voice that called me by my name, 

And said to me, " Kneel down and pray ! " 

And so my terror passed away, 

Passed utterly away forever. 

Contrition, penitence, remorse. 

Came on me, with o'erwhelming force ; 

A hope, a longing, an endeavour, 

By days of penance and nights of prayer, 

To frustrate and defeat despair ! 

Calm, deep, and still is now my heart, 

With tranquil waters overflowed ; 

A lake whose unseen fountains start, 

Where once the hot volcano glowed. 

And you, O Prince of Hoheneck! 

Have known me in that earlier time, 

A man of violence and crime, 

Whose passions brooked no curb nor check. 

Behold me now, in gentler mood, 

One of this holy brotherhood. 

Give me your hand ; here let m£ kneel ; 

Make your reproaches sharp as steel ; 

Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek ; 

No violence can harm the meek, 

There is no wound Christ cannot heal ! 

Yes ; lift your princely hand, and take 

Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek ; 

Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Arise, Count Hugo ! let there be 
No farther strife nor enmity 



174 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Between us twain ; we both have erred ! 
Too rash in act, too wroth in word, 
From the beginning have we stood 
In fierce, defiant attitude, 
Each thoughtless of the other's right, 
And each reliant on his might. 
But now our souls are more subdued ; 
The hand of God, and not in vain, 
Has touched us with the fire of pain. 
Let us kneel down, and side by side 
Pray, till our souls are purified, 
And pardon Avill not be denied ! 
They hied. 



THE REFECTORY. 

Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. Lucifer disguised as 
a Friar. 



fkiar PAUL sings. 
Ave ! color vim clari, 
Dulcis potus, non amari, 
Tua nos inebriari 
Digneris potentia ! 

FKIAR CUTHBERT. 

Not so much noise, my worthy freres, 
You '11 disturb the Abbot at his prayers. 

friar paul sings. 

O ! quam placens in colore ! 
O ! quam fragrans in odore ! 
O ! quam sapidum in ore ! 
Dulce linguae vinculum ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

I should think your tongue had broken its chain ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 175 

FRIAR PAUL sinrjs. 
Felix venter quem intrabis ! 
Felix guttur quod rigabis ! 
Felix os quod tu lavabis ! 
Et beata labia ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Peace . I say, peace ! 

Will you never cease ! 

You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again ! 

FRIAR JOHN. 

No danger ! to-night he will let us alone, 

As I happen to know he has guests of his own. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Who are they ? 

FRIAR JOHN. 

A German Prince and his train, 
Who arrived here just before the rain. 
There is with him a damsel fair to see, 
As slender and graceful as a reed ! 
When she alighted from her steed, 
It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

None of your pale-faced girls for me ! 
None of your damsels of high degree ! 

FRTAR JOHN. 

Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg ! 
But do not drink any farther, I beg ! 

friar PAUL sings. 
In the days of gold, 
The days of old, 
Crosier of wood 
And bishop of gold ! 



176 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

What an infernal racket and riot ! 
Can you not drink your wine in quiet ? 
Why fill the convent with such scandals, 
As if we were so many drunken Vandals V 

friar PAUL continues. 

Now we have changed 
That law so good, 
To crosier of gold 
And bishop of wood ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Well, then, since you are in the mood 
To give your noisy humors vent, 
Sing and howl to your heart's content ! 

CHORUS OF MONKS. 

Funde vinum, funde! 
Tanquam sint fluminis undse, 
Nee quseras unde, 
Sed fundas semper abunde ! 

FRIAR JOHN. 

What is the name of yonder friar, 

With an eye that glows like a coal of fire, 

And such a black mass of tangled hair ? 

FRIAR PAUL. 

He who is sitting there, 

With a rollicking, 

Devil may care, 

Free and easy look and air, 

As if he were used to such feasting and frolicking ? 

FRIAR JOHN. 

The same. 

FRIAR PAUL. 

He 's a stranger. You had better ask his name, 
And where he is going, and whence he came. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 177 

FRIAR JOHN. 

Hallo ! Sir Friar ! 

FRIAR PAUL. 

You must raise your voice a little higher, 
He does not seem to hear what you say. 
Now, try again ! He is looking this way. 

FRIAR JOHN. 

Hallo! Sir Friar, 

We wish to inquire 

Whence you came, and where you are going, 

And anything else that is worth the knowing. 

So be so good as to open your head. 

LUCIFER. 

I am a Frenchman born and bred, 

Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. 

My home 

Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, 

Of which, very like, you never have heard. 

MONKS. 

Never a word ! 

LUCIFER. 

You must know, then, it is in the diocese 
Called the Diocese of Vannes, 
In the province of Brittany. 
From the gray rocks of Morbihan 
It overlooks the angry sea ; 
The very sea-shore where, 
In his great despair, 
Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, 
Filling the night with woe, 
And wailing aloud to the merciless seas 
The name of his sweet Heloise ! 
Whilst overhead 

The convent windows gleamed as red 
As the fiery eyes of the monks within, 
VOL. II. 12 



178 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Who with jovial din 

Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin ! 

Ha ! that is a convent ! that is an abbey ! 

Over the doors, 

None of your death-heads carved in wood, 

None of your Saints looking pious and good, 

None of your Patriarchs old and shabby ! 

But the heads and tusks of boars, 

And the cells 

Hung all round with the fells 

Of the fallow-deer. 

And then what cheer ! 

What jolly, fat friars, 

Sitting round the great, roaring fires, 

Roaring louder than they, 

With their strong wines, 

And their concubines, 

And never a bell, 

With its swagger and swell, 

Calling you up with a start of affright 
In the dead of night, 

To send you grumbling down dark stairs, 

To mumble your prayers. 
But the cheery crow 

Of cocks in the yard below, 

After daybreak, an hour or so, 

And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds, 

These are the sounds 

That, instead of bells, salute the ear. 

And then all day 

Up and away 

Through the forest, hunting the deer! 

Ah, my friends ! I 'm afraid that here 

You are a little too pious, a little too tame, 

And the more is the shame. 

'T is the greatest folly 

Not to be jolly ; 

That 's what I think ! 

Come, drink, drink, 

Drink, and die game ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 179 



MONKS. 

And your Abbot What's-his-name ? 



Abelard ! 

MONKS. 

Did he drink bard ? 



O, no ! Not be ! 

He was a dry old fellow, 

Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow. 

There he stood, 

Lowering at us in sullen mood, 

As if he had come into Brittany 

Just to reform our brotherhood ! 

A roar of laughter. 
But you see 
It never would do ! 
For some of us knew a thing or two, 
In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys ! 
For instance, the great ado 
With old Fulbert's niece, 
The young and lovely Heloise ! 

FRIAR JOHN. 

Stop there, if you please, 

Till we drink to the fair Heloise. 

ALL, drinking and shouting. 
Heloise ! Heloise ! 

The Chapel-bell tolls. 

LUCIFER, starting. 
What is that bell for ? Are you such asses 
As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses ? 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, 
Who is gifted with most miraculous powers 



180 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Of getting up at all sorts of hours, 

And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, 

Of creeping silently out of his cell 

To take a pull at that hideous bell ; 

So that all the monks who are lying awake 

May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, 

And adapted to his peculiar weakness ! 

FRIAR JOHN. 

From frailty and fall — 



ALL. 

Good Lord, deliver us all ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

And before the bell for matins sounds, 

He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, 

Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, 

Merely to say it is time to arise. 

But enough of that. Go on, if you please, 

"With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys. 



Well, it finally came to pass 

That, half in fun and half in malice, 

One Sunday at Mass 

We put some poison into the chalice. 

But, either by accident or design, 

Peter Abelard kept away 

From the chapel that day, 

And a poor, young friar, who in his stead 

Drank the sacramental wine, 

Fell on the steps of the altar, dead ! 

But look ! do you see at the window there 

That face, with a look of grief and despair, 

That ghastly face, as of one in pain ? 



Who ? where ? 



THE GOLDEX LEGEND. 181 

LUCIFER. 

As I spoke, it vanished away again. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

It is that nefarious 

Siebald the Refectorarius. 

That fellow is always playing the scout, 

Creeping and peeping and prowling about ; 

And then he regales 

The Abbot with scandalous tales. 



A spy in the convent ? One of the brothers 

Telling scandalous tales of the others ? 

Out upon him, the lazy loon ! 

I would put a stop to that pretty soon, 

In a way he should rue it. 



How shall we do it *? 



Do you, brother Paul, 

Creep under the window, close to the wall, 

And open it suddenly when I call. 

Then seize the villain by the hair, 

And hold him there, 

And punish him soundly, once for all. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

As St. Dunstan of old, 

We are told, 

Once caught the Devil by the nose ! 



Ha ! ha ! that story is very clever, 
But has no foundation whatsoever. 
Quick ! for I see his face again 
Glaring in at the window-pane ; 
Now ! now ! and do not spare your blows. 



182 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Friar Paul opens the window suddenly, and seizes Siebald. 
They beat him. 

FRIAR SIEBALD. 

Help ! help ! are you going to slay me ? 

FRIAR PAUL. 

That will teach you again to betray me ! 

FRIAR SIEBALD. 

Mercy ! mercy ! 

friar PAUL, shouting and beating. 
Rumpas bellorum lorum, 
Vim confer amorum 
Morum verorum rorum 
Tu plena polorum ! 

LUCIFER. 

Who stands in the doorway yonder, 
Stretching out his trembling hand, 
Just as Abelard used to stand, 
The flash of his keen, black eyes 
Forerunning the thunder ? 

the monks, in confusion. 
The Abbot ! the Abbot ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

And what is the wonder ! 
He seems to have taken you by surprise. 



FRIAR FRANCIS. 
I 



Hide the great flagon 
From the eyes of the dragon 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Pull the brown hood over your face ! 
This will bring us into disgrace ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 183 

ABBOT. 

What means this revel and carouse ? 

Is this a tavern and drinking-house ? 

Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils, 

To pollute this convent with your revels ? 

Were Peter Damian still upon earth, 

To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, 

He would write your names, with pen of gall, 

In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all ! 

Away, you drunkards ! to your cells, 

And pray till you hear the matin-bells ; 

You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul ! 

And as a penance mark each prayer 

With the scourge upon your shoulders bare ; 

Nothing atones for such a sin 

But the blood that follows the discipline. 

And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me 

Alone into the sacristy ; 

You, who should be a guide to your brothers, 

And are ten times worse than all the others, 

For you I 've a draught that has long been brewing, 

You shall do a penance worth the doing ! 

Away to your prayers, then, one and all ! 

I wonder the very convent wall 

Does not crumble and crush you in its fall ! 



THE NEIGHBOURING NUNNERY. 

The Abbess Irmixgaed sitting toith Elsie in the moon- 
light. 

IRMINGARD. 

The night is silent, the wind is still, 

The moon is looking from yonder hill 

Down upon convent, and grove, and garden ; 

The clouds have passed away from her face, 

Leaving, behind them no sorrowful trace, 

Only the tender and quiet grace 

Of one, whose heart has been healed with pardon ! 



184 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And such am I. My soul within 

Was dark with passion and soiled with sin. 

But now its wounds are healed again ; 

Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain ; 

For across that desolate land of woe, 

O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go, 

A wind from heaven began to blow ; 

And all my being trembled and shook, 

As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field, 

And I was healed, as the sick are healed, 

When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book ! 

As thou sittest in the moonlight there, 

Its glory flooding thy golden hair, 

And the only darkness that which lies 

In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, 

I feel my soul drawn unto thee, 

Strangely, and strongly, and more and more, 

As to one I have known and loved before ; 

For every soul is akin to me 

That dwells in the land of mystery ! 

I am the Lady Irmingard, 

Born of a noble race and name ! 

Many a wandering Suabian bard, 

Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard, 

Has found through me the way to fame. 

Brief and bright were those days, and the night 

Which followed was full of a lurid light. 

Love, that of every woman's heart 

Will have the whole and not a part, 

That is to her, in Nature's plan, 

More than ambition is to man, 

Her light, her life, her very breath, 

With no alternative but death, 

Found me a maiden soft and young 

Just from the convent's cloistered school, 

And seated on my lowly stool, 

Attentive while the minstrels sung. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 185 

Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, 

Fairest, noblest, best of all, 

Was Walter of the Vogelweicl ; 

And, whatsoever may betide, 

Still I think of him with pride ! 

His song was of the summer-time, 

The very birds sang in his rhyme ; 

The sunshine, the delicious air, 

The fragrance of the flowers, were there ; 

And I grew restless as I heard, 

Restless and buoyant as a bird, 

Down soft, aerial currents sailing. 

O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, 

And through the momentary gloom 

Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, 

Yielding and borne I knew not where, 

But feeling resistance unavailing. 

And thus, unnoticed and apart, 
And more by accident than choice, 
I listened to that single voice 
Until the chambers of my heart 
Were filled with it by night and day. 
One night, — it was a night in May, — 
Within the garden, unawares, 
Under the blossoms in the gloom, 
I heard it utter my own name 
With protestations and wild prayers ; 
And it rang through me, and became 
Like the archangel's trump of doom, 
Which the soul hears, and must obey ; 
And mine arose as from a tomb. 
My former life now seemed to me 
Such as hereafter death may be, 
When in the great Eternity 
We shall awake and find it day. 

It was a dream, and would not stay ; 
A dream, that in a single night 



18G THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Faded and vanished out of sight. 
My father's anger followed fast 
This passion, as a freshening blast 
Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage 
It may increase, but not assuage. 
And he exclaimed : " No wandering bard 
Shall win thy hand , O Irmingard ! 
For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck 
By messenger and letter sues." 

Gently, but firmly, I replied : 

" Henry of Hoheneck I discard ! 

Never the hand of Irmingard 

Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride ! " 

This said I, Walter, for thy sake ; 

This said I, for I could not choose. 

After a pause, my father spake 

In that cold and deliberate tone 

Which turns the hearer into stone, 

And seems itself the act to be 

That follows with such dread certainty ; 

" This, or the cloister and the veil ! " 

No other words than these he said, 

But they were like a funeral wail ; 

My life was 'ended, my heart was dead. 

That night from the castle-gate went down, 

With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, 

Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds, 

Taking the narrow path that leads 

Into the forest dense and brown. 

In the leafy darkness of the place, 

One could not distinguish form nor face, 

Only a bulk without a shape, 

A darker shadow in the shade ; 

One scarce could say it moved or stayed. 

Thus it was we made our escape ! 

A foaming brook, with many a bound, 

Followed us like a playful hound ; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 187 

Then leaped before us, and in the hollow 
Paused, and waited for us to follow, 
And seemed impatient, and afraid 
That our tardy flight should be betrayed 
By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made. 

And when we reached the plain below, 
We paused a moment and drew rein 
To look back at the castle again ; 
And we saw the windows all aglow 
With lights, that were passing to and fro ; 
Our hearts with terror ceased to beat ; 
The brook crept silent to our feet ; 
We knew what most we feared to know. 
Then suddenly horns began to blow ; 
And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, 
And our horses snorted in the damp 
Night-air of the meadows green and wide, 
And in a moment, side by side, 
So close, they must have seemed but one, 
The shadows across the moonlight run, 
And another came, and swept behind, 
Like the shadow of clouds before the wind ! 

How I remember that breathless flight 
Across the moors, in the summer night! 
How under our feet the long, white road 
Backward like a river flowed, 
Sweeping with it fences and hedges, 
Whilst farther away, and overhead, 
Paler than I, with fear and dread, 
The moon fled with us, as we fled 
Along the forest's jagged edges ! 

All this I can remember well ; 

But of what afterwards befell 

I nothing farther can recall 

Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall ; 

The rest is a blank and darkness all. 



188 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

When I awoke out of this swoon, 

The sun was shining, not the moon, 

Making a cross upon the wall 

With the bars of my windows narrow and tall ; 

And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray, 

From early childhood, day by day, 

Each morning, as in bed I lay ! 

I was lying again in my own room ! 

And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, 

That those shadows on the midnight plain 

Were gone, and could not come again ! 

I struggled no longer with my doom ! 

This happened many years ago. 
I left my father's home to come 
Like Catherine to her martyrdom, 
For blindly I esteemed it so. 
And when I heard the convent door 
Behind me close, to ope no more, 
I felt it smite me like a blow. 
Through all my limbs a shudder ran, 
And on my bruised spirit fell 
The dampness of my narrow cell 
As night-air on a wounded man, 
Giving intolerable pain. 

But now a better life began. 

I felt the agony decrease 

By slow degrees, then wholly cease, 

Ending in perfect rest and peace ! 

It was not apathy, nor dulness, 

That weighed and pressed upon my brain, 

But the same passion I had given 

To earth before, now turned to heaven 

With all its overflowing fulness. 

Alas ! the world is full of peril ! 

The path that runs through the fairest meads, 

On the sunniest side of the valley, leads 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 189 

Into a region bleak and sterile ! 
Alike in the high-born and the lowly, 
The will is feeble, and passion strong. 
We cannot sever right from wrong ; 
Some falsehood mingles Avith all truth ; 
Nor is it strange the heart of youth 
Should waver and comprehend but slowly 
The things that are holy and unholy ! 
But in this sacred and calm retreat, 
We are all well and safely shielded 
From winds that blow, and waves that beat, 
From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, 
To which the strongest hearts have yielded. 
Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, 
For our celestial bridegroom yearning ; 
Our hearts are lamps forever burning, 
With a steady and unwavering flame, 
Pointing upward, forever the same, 
Steadily upward toward the Heaven ! 

The moon is hidden behind a cloud ; 

A sudden darkness fills the room, 

And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, 

Shine like jewels in a shroud. 

On the leaves is a sound of falling rain ; 

A bird, awakened in its nest, 

Gives a faint twitter of unrest, 

Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again. 

No other sounds than these I hear ; 

The hour of midnight must be near. 

Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue 

Of riding many a dusty league ; 

Sink, then, gently to thy slumber ; 

Me so many cares encumber, 

So many ghosts, and forms of fright, 

Have started from their graves to-night, 

They have driven sleep from mine eyes away : 

I will go down to the chapel and pray. 



A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE. 

prince henry. 
God's blessing on the architects who build 
The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses 
Before impassable to human feet, 
No less than on the builders of cathedrals, 
Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across 
The dark and terrible abyss of Death. 
Well has the name of Pontifex been given 
Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder 
And architect of the invisible bridge 
That leads from earth to heaven. 

ELSIE. 

How dark it grows ! 
What are these paintings on the walls around us ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The Dance Macaber ! 

ELSIE. 

What ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The Dance of Death ! 
All that go to and fro must look upon it, 
Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, 
Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river 
Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, 
With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, _ 
Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it 

ELSIE. 

• O, yes ! I see it now ! 

(190) 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 191 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The grim musician 
Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, 
To different sounds in different measures moving ; 
Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, 
To tempt or terrify. 

ELSIE. 

What is this picture ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is a young man singing to a nun, 
Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling 
Turns round to look at him ; and Death, mean- 
while, 
Is putting out the candles on the altar ! 



Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen 
Unto such songs, when in her orisons 
She might have heard in heaven the angels 
singing ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells, 
And dances with the Queen. 



A foolish jest ! 



PRINCE HENRY. 



And here the heart of the new- wedded wife, 
Coming from church with her beloved lord, 
He startles with the rattle of his drum. 



Ah, that is sad ! And yet perhaps 't is best 
That she should die, with all the sunshine on her, 
And all the benedictions of the morning, 



192 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Before this affluence of golden light 
Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, 
Then into darkness ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Under it is written, 
" Nothing but death shall separate thee and ine ! " 

ELSIE. 

And what is this, that follows close upon it ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Death, playing on a dulcimer. Behind him, 

A poor old woman, with a rosary, . 

Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet 

Were swifter to o'ertake him. Underneath, 

The inscription reads, " Better is Death than Life." 

ELSIE. 

Better is Death than Life ! Ah yes ! to thousands 

Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings 

That song of consolation, till the air 

B,in<rs with it, and they cannot choose but follow 

Whither he leads. And not the old alone, 

But the young also hear it, and are still. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is the sound 
Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears, 
Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water, 
Responding to the pressure of a finger 
With music sweet and low and melancholy. 
Let us go forward, and no longer stay 
In this great picture-gallery of Death ! 
I hate it ! ay, the very thought of it ! 



Why is it hateful to you 



ELSIE. 

9 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 193 

PRINCE HENRY. 

For the reason 
That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, 
And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful. 



The grave itself is but a covered bridge, 

Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness ! 

prince henry, emerging from the bridge. 

I breathe again more freely ! Ah, how pleasant 
To come once more into the light of day, 
Out of that shadow of death ! To hear again 
The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, 
And not upon those hollow planks, resounding 
With a sepulchral echo, like the clods 
On coffins in a churchyard ! Yonder lies 
The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, apparelled 
In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, 
Hid in the bosom of her native mountains, 
Then pouring all her life into another's, 
Changing her name and being ! Overhead, 
Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, 
Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. 
They pass on. 



THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE. 

Prince Henry and Elsie crossing, with attendants. 

GUIDE. 

This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. 
With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, 
It leaps across the terrible chasm 
Yawning beneath us, black and deep, 
As if, in some convulsive spasm, 
The summits of the hills had cracked, 

VOL. II. 13 



194 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And made a road for the cataract, 
That raves and rages down the steep ! 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha ! ha ! 

GUIDE. 

Never any bridge but this 

Could stand across the wild abyss ; 

All the rest, of wood or stone, 

By the Devil's hand were overthrown. 

He toppled crags from the precipice, 

And whatsoe'er was built by day 

In the night was swept away ; 

None could stand but this alone. 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha ! ha ! 

GUIDE. 

I showed you in the valley a boulder 
Marked with the imprint of his shoulder ; 
As he was bearing it up this way, 
A peasant, passing, cried, " Herr Je ! " 
And the Devil dropped it in his fright, 
And vanished suddenly out of sight ! 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha ! ha ! 

GUIDE. 

Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, 

For pilgrims on their way to Rome, 

Built this at last, with a single arch, 

Under which, on its endless march, 

Runs the river, white with foam, 

Like a thread through the eye of a needle. 

And the Devil promised to let it stand, 

Under compact and condition 

That the first living thing which crossed 

Should be surrendered into his hand, 

And be beyond redemption lost. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 195 



Lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha ! ha ! perdition ! 



At length, the bridge being all completed, 
The Abbot, standing at its head, 
Threw across it a loaf of bread, 
Which a hungry dog sprang after, 
And the rocks reechoed with peals of laughter 
To see the Devil thus defeated ! 
Theij2 msi on - 
lucifer, under the bridge. 

Ha ! ha ! defeated ! 

For journeys and for crimes like this 

I let the bridge stand o'er the abyss ! 



THE ST. GOTHARD PASS. 
PRIXCE HENRY. 

This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers 
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll 
Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence 
Becomes a benefaction to the towns 
They visit, wandering silently among them, 
Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. 



How bleak and bare it is ! Nothing but mosses 
Grow on these rocks. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Yet are they not forgotten ; 
Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. 

ELSIE. 

See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft 
So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away 



196 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Over the snowy peaks ! It seems to me 
The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels ! 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels 
Bear thee across these chasms and precipices, 
Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone ! 



Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, 
Upon angelic shoulders ! Even now 
I seem uplifted by them, light as air ! 
What sound is that ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The tumbling avalanches ! 

ELSIE. 

How awful, yet how beautiful ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

These are 
The voices of the mountains ! Thus they ope 
Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, 
In the primeval language, lost to man. 



What land is this that spreads itself beneath us ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Italy ! Italy ! 

ELSIE. 

Land of the Madonna ! 
How beautiful it is ! It seems a garden 
Of Paradise ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Nay, of Gethsemane 
To thee and me, of passion and of prayer ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 197 

Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago 
I wandered as a youth among its bowers, 
And never from my heart has faded quite 
Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, 
Encircles with a ring of purple light 
All the horizon of my youth. 

GUIDE. 

O friends ! 
The days are short, the way before us long ; 
We must not linger, if we think to reach 
The inn at Belinzona before vespers ! 
They x>ass on. 



AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS. 

A halt under the trees at noon. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Here let us pause a moment in the trembling 
Shadow and sunshine of the road-side trees, 
And, our tired horses in a group assembling, 
Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze. 
Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants ; 
They lag behind us with a slower pace ; 
We will await them under the green pendants 
Of the great willows in this shady place. 
Ho, Barbarossa ! how thy mottled haunches 
Sweat with this canter over hill and glade ! 
Stand still, and let these overhanging branches 
Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade ! 

ELSIE. 

What a delightful landscape spreads before us, 
Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and 

there ! * 

And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us, 
Blossoms of grape-vines scent the sunny air. 



198 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Hark ! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents 

holy 
Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet ! 



It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly 

On their long journey, with uncovered feet. 

pilgrims, chaunting the Hymn of St. Eildebert. 

Me receptet Sion ilia, 
Sion David, urbs tranquilla, 
Cujus faber auctor lucis, 
Cujus portas lignum crucis, 
Cujus claves lingua Petri, 
Cujus cives semper laeti, 
Cujus muri lapis vivus, 
Cujus custos Rex festivus ! 

lucifer, as a Friar in the procession. 

Here am I, too, in the pious band, 

In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed ! 

The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned 

As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand, 

The Holy Satan, who made the wives 

Of the bishops lead such shameful lives. 

All day long I beat my breast, 

And chaunt with a most particular zest 

The Latin hymns, which I understand 

Quite as well, I think, as the rest. 

And at night such lodging in barns and sheds, 

Such a hurly-burly in country inns, 

Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, 

Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins ! 

Of all the contrivances of the time 

For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime, 

There is none so pleasing to me and mine 

As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 199 



PRINCE HENRY. 



If from the outward man we judge the inner, 
And cleanliness is godliness, I fear 
A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner, 
Must be that Carmelite now passing near. 



There is my German Prince again, 

Thus far on his journey to Salern, 

And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain 

Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain ; 

But it 's a long road that has no turn ! 

Let them quietly hold their way, 

I have also a part in the play. 

But first I must act to my heart's content 

This mummery and this merriment, 

And drive this motley flock of sheep 

Into the fold, where drink and sleep 

The jolly old friars of Benevent. 

Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh 

To see these beggars hobble along, 

Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, 

Chanting their wonderful piff and paff, 

And, to make up for not understanding the song, 

Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong ! 

Were it not for my magic garters and staff, 

And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, 

And the mischief I make in the idle throng, 

I should not continue the business long. 

pilgrims, chauntlng. 

In hac urbe, lux solennis, 
Ver seternum, pax perennis ; 
In hac odor implens caelos, 
In hac semper festum melos ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Do you observe that monk among the train, 
Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass, 



200 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, 
And this way turns his rubicund, round face ? 



It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, 
Preached to the people in the open air. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell, 
On that good steed, that seems to bear him well, 
The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, 
His own stout legs ! He, too, was in the play, 
Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. 
Good morrow, Friar ! 



FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Good morrow, noble Sir ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 






I speak in German, for, unless I err, 
You are a German. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

I cannot gainsay you. 
But by what instinct, or what secret sign, 
Meeting me here, do you straightway divine 
That northward of the Alps my country lies ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Your accent, like St. Peter's, would betray you, 
Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes. 
Moreover, we have seen your face before, 
And heard you preach at the Cathedral door 
On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg Square. 
We were among the crowd that gathered there, 
And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill, 
As if, by leaning o'er so many years 
To walk with little children, your own will 
Had caught a childish attitude from theirs, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 201 

A kind of stooping in its form and gait, 
And could no longer stand erect and straight. 
Whence come you now ? 

FKIAR CUTHBERT. 

From the old monastery 
Of Hirschau, in the forest ; being sent 
Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, 
To see the image of the Virgin Mary, 
That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, 
And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks, 
To touch the hearts of the impenitent. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

O, had I faith, as in the days gone by, 

That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery ! 

lucifer, at a distance. 
Ho, Cuthbert ! Friar Cuthbert ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Farewell Prince ! 
I cannot stay to argue and convince. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

This is indeed the blessed Mary's land, 

Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer ! 

All hearts are touched and softened at her name ; 

Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand, 

The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant, 

The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, 

Pay homage to her as one ever present ! 

And even as children, who have much offended 

A too indulgent father, in great shame, 

Penitent, and yet not daring unattended 

To go into his presence, at the gate 

Speak with their sister, and confiding wait 

Till she goes in before and intercedes ; 

So men, repenting of their evil deeds, 



202 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And yet not venturing rashly to draw near 
With their requests an angry father's ear, 
Offer to her their prayers and theb confession, 
And she for them in heaven makes intercession. 
And if our Faith had given us nothing more 
Than this example of all womanhood, 
So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, 
So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, 
This were enough to prove it higher and truer 
Than all the creeds the world had known before. 

pilgrims, chaunting afar off. 

Urbs coelestis, urbs beata, 
Supra petram collocata, 
Urbs in portu satis tuto 
De longinquo te saluto, 
Te saluto, te suspiro, 
Te affecto, te requiro ! 



*«* THE INN AT GENOA. 

A terrace overlooking the sea. Night. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is the sea, it is the sea, 
In all its vague immensity, 
Fading anddarkening in the distance ! 
Silent, majestical, and slow, 
The white ships haunt it to and fro, 
With all their ghostly sails unfurled, 
As phantoms from another world 
Haunt the dim confines of existence ! 
But ah ! how few can comprehend 
Their signals, or to what good end 
From land to land they come and go S 
Upon a sea more vast and dark 
The spirits of the dead embark, 
All voyaging to unknown coasts. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 203 

We wave our farewells from the shore, 
And they depart, and come no more, 
Or come as phantoms and as ghosts. 

Above the darksome sea of death 

Looms the great life that is to be, 

A land of cloud and mystery, 

A dim mirage, with shapes of men 

Long dead, and passed beyond our ken. 

Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath 

Till the fair pageant vanisheth, 

Leaving us in perplexity, 

And doubtful whether it has been 

A vision of the world unseen, 

Or a bright image of our own 

Against the sky in vapors thrown. 

lucifer, singing from the sea. 
Thou didst not make it, thou canst not mend it, 
But thou hast the power to end it ! 
The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, 
Deep it lies at thy very feet ; 
There is no confessor like unto Death ! 
Thou canst not see him, but he is near ; 
Thou needest not whisper above thy breath, 
And he will hear ; 
He will answer the questions, 
The vague surmises and suggestions, 
That fill thy soul with doubt and fear ! 

PRINCE HENliT. 

The fisherman, who lies afloat, 
With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, 
Is singing softly to the Night ! 
But do I comprehend aright 
The meaning of the words he sung 
So sweetly in his native tongue ? 
Ah, yes ! the sea is still and "deep. 
All things within its bosom sleep ! 



204 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

A single step, and all is o'er ; 
A plunge, a bubble, and no more ; 
And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free 
From martyrdom and agony. 

elsie, coming from her chamber upon the terrace. 

The night is calm and cloudless, 

And still as still can be, 

And the stars come forth to listen 

To the music of the sea. 

They gather, and gather, and gather, 

Until they crowd the sky, 

And listen, in breathless silence, 

To the solemn litany. 

It begins in rocky caverns, 

As a voice that chaunts alone 

To the pedals of the organ 

In monotonous undertone ; 

And anon from shelving beaches, 

And shallow sands beyond, 

In snow-white robes uprising 

The ghostly choirs respond. 

And sadly and unceasing 

The mournful voice sings on, 

And the snow-white choirs still answer 

Christe eleison ! 

FKINCE HENRY. 

Angel of God ! thy finer sense perceives 

Celestial and perpetual harmonies ! 

Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, 

Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze, 

And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves, 

Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, 

And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves. 

But I hear discord only and despair, 

And whispers as of demons in the air ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. ' 205 



IL. PADROXK. 

The wind upon our quarter lies, 
And on before the freshening gale, 
That fills the snow-white lateen sail, 
Swiftly our light felucca flies. 
Around, the billows burst and foam ; 
They lift her o'er the sunken rock, 
They beat her sides with many a shock, 
And then upon their flowing dome 
They poise her, like a weathercock ! 
Between us and the Avestern skies 
The hills of Corsica arise ; 
Eastward, in yonder long, blue line, 
The summits of the Apennine, 
And southward, and still far away, 
Salerno, on its sunny bay. 
You cannot see it, where it lies. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ah, would that never more mine eyes 
Might see its towers by night or day ! 



Behind us, dark and awfully, 
There comes a cloud out of the sea, 
That bears the form of a hunted deer, 
With hide of brown, and hoofs of black, 
And antlers laid upon its back, 
And fleeing fast and wild with fear, 
As if the hounds were on its track ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Lo ! while we gaze, it breaks and falls 

In shapeless masses, like the walls 

Of a burnt city. Broad and red 

The fires of the descending sun 

Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, 



206 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, 
Long shafts of silvery light arise, 
Like rafters that support the skies ! 



See ! from its summit the lurid levin 
Flashes downward without warning, 
As Lucifer, son of the morning, 
Fell from the battlements of heaven ! 

IL PADRONE. 

I must entreat you, friends, below ! 

The angry storm begins to blow, 

For the weather changes with the moon. 

All this morning, until noon, 

We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws 

Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. 

Only a little hour ago 

I was whistling to Saint Antonio 

For a capful of wind to fill our sail, 

And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale. 

Last night I saw Saint Elmo's stars, 

With their glimmering lanterns, all at play 

On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, 

And I knew we. should have foul weather to-day. 

Cheerly, my hearties ! yo heave ho ! 

Brail up the mainsail, and let her go 

As the winds will and Saint Antonio ! 

Do you see that Livornese felucca, 
That vessel to the windward yonder, 
Running with her gunwale under V 
I was looking when the wind o'ertook her. 
She had all sail set, and the only wonder 
Is, that at once the strength of the blast 
Did not carry away her mast. 
She is a galley of the Gran Duca, 
That, through the fear of the Algerines, 
Convoys those lazy brigantines, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 207 

Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. 
Now all is ready, high and low ; 
Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio ! 

Ha ! that is the first dash of the rain, 
With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, 
Just enough to moisten our sails, 
And make them ready for the strain. 
See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her, 
And speeds away with a bone in her mouth ! 
Now keep her head toward the south, 
And there is no danger of bank or breaker. 
With the breeze behind us, on we go ; 
Not too much, good Saint Antonio ! 



VI. 

THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO. 

A travelling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate of the 
College. 

SCHOLASTIC. 

There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, 

Hung up as a challenge to all the field ! 

One hundred and twenty-five propositions, 

Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue 

Against all disputants, old and young. 

Let us see if doctors or dialecticians 

Will dare to dispute my definitions, 

Or attack any one of my learned theses. 

Here stand I ; the end shall be as God pleases. 

I think I have proved, by profound researches, 

The error of all those doctrines so vicious 

Of the old Areopagite Pionysius, 

That are making such terrible work in the 

churches, 
By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, 
And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, 
Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain, 
In the face of the truth, the error infernal, 
That the universe is and must be eternal ; 
At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, 
That nothing with God can be accidental ; 
Then asserting that God before the creation 
Could not have existed, because it is plain 
That, had he existed, he would have created ; 
Which is begging the question that should be 

debated, 
And moveth me less to anger than laughter. 
All nature, he holds, is a respiration 
Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter 
(208) 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 209 

Will inhale it into his bosom again, 

So that nothing hut God alone will remain. 

And therein he eontradicteth himself; 

For he opens the whole discussion by stating, 

That God can only exist in creating. 

That question I think I have laid on the shelf! 

He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and followed 
by pupils. 

DOCTOK SERAFINO. 

I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, 

That a word which is only conceived in the brain 

Is a type of eternal Generation ; 

The spoken word is the Incarnation. 

DOCTOR CHERUBINO. 

What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, 
With all his wordy chaffer and traffic ? 

DOCTOR SERAFINO. 

You make but a paltry show of resistance ; 
Universals have no real existence ! 

DOCTOR CHERUBINO. 

Your words are but idle and empty chatter ; 
Ideas are eternally joined to matter ! 

DOCTOR SERAFINO. 

May the Lord have mercy on your position, 
You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs ! 

DOCTOR CHERUBINO. 

May he send your soul to eternal perdition, 
For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs ! 

They rush outfighting. Two Scholars come in. 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Monte Cassino, then, is your College. 
What think you of ours here at Salern V 
VOL. II. 14 



210 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, 

I hardly yet have had time to discern. 

So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge : 

The air seems healthy, the buildings stately, 

And on the whole I like it greatly. 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Yes, the air is sweet ; the Calabrian hills 

Send us down puffs of mountain air ; 

And in summer-time the sea-breeze fills 

With its coolness cloister, and court, and square. 

Then at every season of the year 

There are crowds of guests and travellers here ; 

Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders 

From the Levant, with figs and wine, 

And bands of wounded and sick Crusaders, 

Coming back from Palestine. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

And what are the studies you pursue ? 
What is the course you here go through ? 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

The first three years of the college course 
Are given to Logic alone, as the source 
Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

That seems rather strange, I must confess, 
In a Medical School ; yet, nevertheless, 
You doubtless have reasons for that. 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

O, yes ! 

For none but a clever dialectician 
Can hope to become a great physician ; 
That has been settled long ago. 
Logic makes an important part 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 211 

Of the mystery of the healing art ; 
For without it how could you hope to show 
That nobody knows so much as you know ? 
After this there are five years more 
Devoted wholly to medicine, 
With lectures on chirurgical lore, 
And dissections of the bodies of swine, 
As likest the human form divine. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

"What are the books now most in vogue ? 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Quite an extensive catalogue ; 

Mostly, however, books of our own ; 

As Gariopontus' Passionarius, 

And the writings of Matthew Platearius; 

And a volume universally known 

As the Regimen of the School of Salern, 

For Robert of Normandy written in terse 

And very elegant Latin verse. 

Each of these writings has its turn. 

And when at length we have finished these, 

Then comes the struggle for degrees, 

With all the oldest and ablest critics ; 

The public thesis and disputation, 

Question, and answer, and explanation 

Of a passage out of Hippocrates, 

Or Aristotle's Analytics. 

There the triumphant Magister stands ! 

A book is solemnly placed in his hands, 

On which he swears to follow the rule 

And ancient forms of the good old School ; 

To report if any confectionarius 

Mingles his drags with matters various, 

And to visit his patients twice a day, 

And once in the night, if they live in town, 

And if they are poor, to take no pay. 

Having faithfully promised these, 



212 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

His head is crowned with a laurel crown ; 

A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand, 

The Magister Artium et Physices 

Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land. 

And now, as we have the whole morning before 

us, 
Let us go in, if you make no objection, 
And listen awhile to a learned prelection 
On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. 

They go in. Enter Lucifer as a Doctor. 

LUCIFER. 

This is the great School of Salern ! 

A land of wrangling and of quarrels, 

Of brains that seethe and hearts that burn, 

Where every emulous scholar hears, 

In every breath that comes to his ears, 

The rustling of another's laurels ! 

The air of the place is called salubrious ; 

The neighbourhood of Vesuvius lends it 

An odor volcanic, that rather mends it, 

And the buildings have an aspect lugubrious, 

That inspires a feeling of awe and terror 

Into the heart of the beholder, 

And befits such an ancient homestead of error, 

Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder, 

And yearly by many hundred hands 

Are carried away, in the zeal of youth, 

And sown like tares in the field of truth, 

To blossom and ripen in other lands. 

What have we here, affixed to the gate V 
The challenge of some scholastic wight, 
Who wishes to hold a public debate 
On sundry questions wrong or right ! 
Ah, now this is my great delight ! 
For I have often observed of late 
That such discussions end in a fight. 
Let us see what the learned wag maintains 
With such a prodigal waste of brains. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 213 

Reads. 
" Whether angels in moving from place to place 
Pass through the intermediate space. 
Whether God himself is the author of evil, 
Or whether that is the work of the Devil. 
When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, 
And whether he now is chained in hell." 

I think I can answer that question well ! 

So long as the boastful human mind 

Consents in such mills as this to grind, 

I sit very firmly upon my throne ! 

Of a truth it almost makes me laugh, 

To see men leaving the golden grain 

To gather in piles the pitiful chaff 

That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain, 

To have it caught up and tossed again 

On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne ! 

But my guests approach ! there is in the air 

A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful Garden 

Of Paradise, in the days that were ! 

An odor of innocence, and of prayer, 

And of love, and faith that never fails, 

Such as the fresh young heart exhales 

Before it begins to wither and harden ! 

I cannot breathe such an atmosphere ! 

My soul is filled with a nameless fear, 

That, after all my trouble and pain, 

After all my restless endeavour, 

The youngest, fairest soul of the twain, 

The most ethereal, most divine, 

Will escape from my hands forever and ever. 

But the other is already mine ! 

Let him live to corrupt his race, 

Breathing among them, with every breath, 

Weakness, selfishness, and the base 

And pusillanimous fear of death. 

I know his nature, and I know 



214 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

That of all Avho in my ministry 
"Wander the great earth to and fro, 
And on my errands come and go, 
The safest and subtlest are such as he. 

Enter Prince Henry and Elsie, with attendants. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Can you direct us to Friar Angelo ? 



He stands before you. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Then you know our purpose. 
I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this 
The maiden that I spake of in my letters. 

LUCIFER. 

It is a very grave and solemn business ! 
We must not be precipitate. Does she_ 
Without compulsion, of her own free will, 
Consent to this ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Against all opposition, 
Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations. 
She will not be persuaded. 

LUCIFER. 

That is strange ! 
Have you thought well of it ? 

ELSIE. 

I come not here 
To argue, but to die. Your business is not 
To question, but to kill me. I am ready. 
I am impatient to be gone from here 
Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again 
The spirit of tranquillity within me. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 215 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Would I had not come here ! Would I were dead, 

And thou wert in thy cottage in the forest, 

And hadst not known me ! Why have I done 

this? 
Let me go back and die. 



It cannot be ; 
Not if these cold, flat stones on which we tread 
Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway 
Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat. 
I must fulfil my purpose. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I forbid it ! 
Not one step farther. For I only meant 
To put thus far thy courage to the proof. 
It is enough. I, too, have courage to die, 
For thou hast taught me ! 



O my Prince ! remember 
Your promises. Let me fulfil my errand. 
You do not look on life and death as I do. 
There are two angels, that attend unseen 
Each one of us, and in great books record 
Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down 
The good ones, after every action closes 
His volume, and ascends with it to God. 
The other keeps his dreadful day-book open 
Till sunset, that we may repent ; which doing, 
The record of the action fades away, 
And leaves a line of white across the page. 
Now if my act be good, as I believe, 
It cannot be recalled. It is already 
Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished. 
The rest is yours. Why wait you ? I am ready. 



216 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

To her attendants. 
Weep not, my friends ! rather rejoice with me. 
I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, 
And you will have another friend in heaven. 
Then start not at the creaking of the door 
Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it. 

To Prince Henry. 
And you, O Prince ! bear back my benison 
Unto my father's house, and all within it. 
This morning in the church I prayed for them, 
After confession, after absolution, 
When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them. 
God will take care of them, they need me not. 
And in your life let my remembrance linger, 
As something not to trouble and disturb it, 
But to complete it, adding life to life. 
And if at times beside the evening fire 
You see my face among the other faces, 
Let it not be regarded as a ghost 
That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves 

you. 
Nay, even as one of your own family, 
Without whose presence there were something 

wanting. 
I have no more to say. Let us go in. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Friar Angelo ! I charge you on your life, 
Believe not what she says, for she is mad, 
And comes here not to die, but to be healed. 

ELSIE. 

Alas ! Prince Henry ! 

LUCIFER. 

Come with me ; this way. 

Elsie goes in with Lucifer, itiho thrusts Prince Henry 
back and closes the door. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 217 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Gone ! and the light of all my life gone with her ! 
A sudden darkness falls upon the world ! 
O, what a vile and abject thing am I, 
That purchase length of days at such a cost ! 
Not by her death alone, but by the death 
Of all that's good and true and noble in me ! 
All manhood, excellence, and self-respect, 
All love, and faith, and hope, and heart are dead ! 
All my divine nobility of nature 
By this one act is forfeited forever. 
I am a Prince in nothing but in name ! 
To the attendants. 

Why did you let this horrible deed be done ? 
Why did you not lay hold on her, and keep her 
From self-destruction ? Angelo ! murderer ! 
Struggles at the door, but cannot open it. 

elsie within, 
Farewell, dear Prince ! farewell ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Unbar the door ! 

LUCIFER. 

It is too late ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It shall not be too late ! 
They burst the door open and rush in. 



THE COTTAGE IN THE ODENWALD. 
Ursula, spinning. Summer afternoon. A table spread. 

URSULA. 

I have marked it well, — it must be true, — 
Death never takes one alone, but two ! 



218 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Whenever he enters in at a door, 

Under roof of gold or roof of thatch, 

He always leaves it upon the latch, 

And comes again ere the year is o'er. 

Never one of a household only ! 

Perhaps it is a mercy of God, 

Lest the dead there under the sod, 

In the land of strangers, should be lonely ! 

Ah me ! I think I am lonelier here ! 

It is hard to go, — but harder to stay ! 

Were it not for the children, I should pray 

That Death would take me within the year ! 

And Gottlieb ! — he is at work all day, 

In the sunny field, or the forest murk, 

But I know that his thoughts are far away, 

I know that his heart is not in his work ! 

And when he comes home to me at night 

He is not cheery, but sits and sighs, 

And I see the great tears in his eyes, 

And try to be cheerful for his sake. 

Only the children's hearts are light. 

Mine is weary, and ready to break. 

God help us ! I hope Ave have done right ; 

We thought we were acting for the best ! 

Looking through the open door. 

Who is it coming under the trees ? 
A man, in the Prince's livery dressed ! 
He looks about him with doubtful face, 
As if uncertain of the place. 
He stops at the beehives ; — now he sees 
The garden gate ; — he is going past ! 
Can he be afraid of the bees ? 
No ; he is coming in at last ! 
He fills my heart with strange alarm ! 
Enter a Foi^tster. 

FORESTER. 

Is this the tenant Gottlieb's farm ? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 219 

URSULA. 

This is his farm, and I his wife. 

Pray sit. What may your business be ? 

FORESTER. 

News from the Prince ! 

URSULA. 

Of death or life ? 

FORESTER. 

You put your questions eagerly ! 

URSULA. 

Answer me, then ! How is the Prince ? 

FORESTER. 

I left him only two hours since 
Homeward returning down the river, 
As strong and well as if God, the Giver, 
Had given him back his youth again. 

Ursula, despairing. 
Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead ! 

FORESTER. 

That, my good woman, I have not said. 
Do n't cross the bridge till you come to it, 
Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. 

URSULA. 

Keep me no longer in this pain ! 

FORESTER. 

It is true your daughter is no more ; — 
That is, the peasant she was before. 



Alas ! I am simple and lowly bred, 
I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. 



220 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And it is not well that you of the court 
Should mock me thus, and make a sport 
Of a joyless mother whose child is dead, 
For you, too, were of mother born ! 

FORESTER. 

Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well ! 
You will learn ere long how it all befell. 
Her heart for a moment never failed ; 
But when they reached Salerno's gate, 
The Prince's nobler self prevailed, 
And saved her for a nobler fate. 
And he was healed, in his despair, 
By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred bones ; 
Though I think the long ride in the open air, 
That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, 
In the miracle must come in for a share ! 



Virgin ! who lovest the poor and lowly, 

If the loud cry of a mother's heart 

Can ever ascend to where thou art, 

Into thy blessed hands and holy 

.Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving. 

Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it 

Into the awful presence of God ; 

For thy feet with holiness are shod, 

And if thou bearest it he will hear it. 

Our child who was dead again is living ! 

FORESTER. 

I did not tell you she was dead ; 
If you thought so 't was no fault of mine ; 
At this very moment, while I speak, 
They are sailing homeward down the Rhine, 
In a splendid barge, with golden prow, 
And decked with banners white and red 
As the colors on your daughter's cheek. 
They call her the Lady Alicia now ; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 221 

For the Prince in Salerno made a vow 
That Elsie only would he wed. 

URSULA. 

Jesu Maria ! what a change ! 

All seems to me so weird and strange ! 

FORESTER. 

I saw her standing on the deck, 

Beneath an awning cool and shady ; 

Her cap of velvet conld not hold 

The tresses of her hair of gold, 

That flowed and floated like the stream, 

And fell in masses down her neck. 

As fair and lovely did she seem 

As in a story or a dream 

Some beautiful and foreign lady. 

And the Prince looked so grand, and proud, 

And waved his hand thus to the crowd 

That gazed and shouted from the shore, 

All down the river, long and loud. 



We shall behold our child once more ; 
She is not dead ! She is not dead ! 
God, listening, must have overheard 
The prayers, that, without sound or word, 
Our hearts in secrecy have said ! 
O, bring me to her ; for mine eyes 
Are hungry to behold her face ; 
My very soul within me cries ; 
My very hands seem to caress her, 
,To see her, gaze at her, and bless her ; 
Dear Elsie, child of God and grace ! 

Goes out toward the garden. 

FORESTER. 

There goes the good woman out of her head ; 
And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here ; 



222 THE GOLDEX LEGEND. 

A very capacious flagon of beer, 

And a very portentous loaf of bread. 

One would say his grief did not much oppress him. 

Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him ! 



He chinks. 

Ha ! it buzzes and stings like a hornet ! 
And what a scene there, through the door ! 
The forest behind and the garden before, 
And midway an old man of threescore, 
With a wife and children that caress him. 
Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it 
With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet ! 

Goes oat blowing his horn. 






THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. 

Prince Henry and Elsie standing on the terrace at 
evening. The sound of bells heard )'rom a distance. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

We are alone. The wedding guests 
Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks, 
And the descending dark invests 
The Niederwald, and all the nests 
Among its hoar and haunted oaks. 



What bells are those, that ring so slow, 
So mellow, musical, and low V 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They are the bells of Geisenheim, 
That with their melancholy chime 
Ring out the curfew of the sun. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 223 

ELSIE. 

Listen, beloved. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They are done ! 
Dear Elsie ! many years ago 
Those same soft bells at eventide 
Rano; in the ears of Charlemagne, 
As, seated by Fastrada's side 
At Ingelheim, in all his pride 
He heard their sound with secret pain. 



Their voices only speak to me 
Of peace and deep tranquillity, 
And endless confidence in thee ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Thou knowest the story of her ring, 

How, when the court went back to Aix, 

Fastrada died ; and how the king 

Sat watching by her night and day, 

Till into one of the blue lakes, 

Which water that delicious land, 

They cast the ring, drawn from her hand ; 

And the great monarch sat serene 

And sad beside the fated shore, 

Nor left the land forever more. 



That was true love. 



PRINCE HENRY. 



For him the queen 
Ne'er did what thou hast done for me. 



ELSIE. 

Wilt thou as fond and faithful be ? 
Wilt thou so love me after death ? 



224 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

In life's delight, in death's dismay, 
In storm and sunshine, night and day, 
In health, in sickness, in decay, 
Here and hereafter, I am thine ! 
Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath 
The calm, blue waters of thine eyes 
Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, 
And, undisturbed by this world's breath, 
With magic light its jewels shine ! 
This golden ring, which thou hast worn 
Upon thy finger since the morn, 
Is but a symbol and a semblance, 
An outward fashion, a remembrance, 
Of what thou wearest within unseen, 
O my Fastrada, O my queen ! 
Behold ! the hill-tops all aglow 
With purple and with amethyst ; 
While the whole valley deep below 
Is filled, and seems to overflow, 
With a fast-rising tide of mist. 
The evening air grows damp and chill ; 
Let us go in. 

ELSIE. 

Ah, not so soon. 
See yonder fire ! It is the moon 
Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. 
It glimmers on the forest tips, 
And through the dewy foliage drips 
In little rivulets of light, 
And makes the heart in love with night. 

PKINCE HENRY. 

Oft on this terrace, when the day 
Was closing, have I stood and gazed, 
And seen the landscape fade away, 
And the white vapors rise and drown 
Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town, 
While far above the hill-tops blazed. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 225 

But then another hand than thine 
Was gently held and clasped in mine ; 
Another head upon my breast 
Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. 
Why dost thou lift those tender eyes 
With so much sorrow and surprise ? 
A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, 
Was that which in my own was pressed. 
A manly form usurped thy place, 
A beautiful, but bearded face, 
That now is in the Holy Land, 
Yet in my memory from afar 
Is shining on us like a star. 
But linger not. For while I speak, 
A sheeted spectre white and tall, 
The cold mist climbs the castle wall, 
And lays his hand upon thy cheek ! 

They go in. 



VOL. II. 15 



EPILOGUE. 

THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING. 
THE ANGEL OF GOOD DEEDS, with dosed book. 

God sent his messenger the rain, 
And said unto the mountain brook, 
" Rise up, and from thy caverns look 
And leap, with naked, snow-white feet, 
From the cool hills into the heat 
Of the broad, arid plain." 

God sent his messenger of faith, 
And whispered in the maiden's heart, 
" Rise up, and look from where thou art, 
And scatter with unselfish hands 
Thy freshness on the barren sands 
And solitudes of Death." 

O beauty of holiness, 

Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness ! 

O power of meekness, 

Whose very gentleness and weakness 

Are like the yielding, but irresistible air ! 

Upon the pages 

Of the sealed volume that I bear, 

The deed divine 

Is written in characters of gold, 

That never shall grow old, 

But through all ages 

Burn and shine, 

(226) 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 227 

With soft effulgence ! 
O God ! it is thy indulgence 
That fills the world with the bliss 
Of a good deed like this ! 

THE ANGEL OF EVIL DEEDS, With Open book. 

Not yet, not yet 

Is the red sun wholly set, 

But evermore recedes, 

"While open still I bear * 

The Book of Evil Deeds, 

To let the breathings of the upper air 

Visit its pages and erase 

The records from its face ! 

Fainter and fainter as I gaze 

In the broad blaze 

The glimmering landscape shines, 

And below me the black river 

Is hidden by wreaths of vapor ! 

Fainter and fainter the black lines 

Begin to quiver 

Along the whitening surface of the paper ; 

Shade after shade 

The terrible words grow faint and fade, 

And in their place 

Runs a white space ! 

Down goes the sun ! 

But the soul of one, 

Who by repentance 

Has escaped the dreadful sentence, 

Shines bright below me as I look. 

It is the end ! 

With closed Book 

To God do I ascend. 

Lo ! over the mountain steeps 
A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps 
Beneath my feet ; 



228 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

A blackness inwardly brightening 

With sullen heat, 

As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. 

And a cry of lamentation, 

Repeated and again repeated, 

Deep and loud 

As the reverberation 

Of cloud answering unto cloud, 

Swells and rolls away in the distance, 

As if the sheeted 

Lightning retreated, 

Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance. 

It is Lucifer, 

The son of mystery ; 

And since God suffers him to be, 

He, too, is God's minister, 

And labors for some good 

By us not understood ! 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 

1855. 



Should you ask me, whence these stories ? 

Whence these legends and traditions, 

With the odors of the forest, 

With the dew and damp of meadows, 

With the curling smoke of wigwams, 

With the rushing of great rivers, 

With their frequent repetitions, 

And their wild reverberations, 

As of thunder in the mountains ? 

I should answer, I should tell you, 
" From the forests and the prairies, 
From the great lakes of the Northland, 
From the land of the Ojibways, 
From the land of the Dacotahs, 
From the mountains, moors, and fen-lands, 
Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Feeds among the reeds and rushes. 
I repeat them as I heard them 
From the lips of Nawadaha, 
The musician, the sweet singer." 

Should you ask where Nawadaha 
Found these songs, so wild and wayward, 
Found these legends and traditions, 
I should answer, I should tell you, 
" In the bird's-nests of the forest, 
In the lodges of the beaver, 
In the hoof-prints of the bison, 
In the eyry of the eagle ! 

" All the wild-fowl sang them to him, 
In the moorlands and the fen-lands, 
(231) 



232 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

In the melancholy marshes ; 
Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, 
Mahng, the loon, the wild goose, Wawa, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grouse, the Mushkodasa ! " 

If still further you should ask me, 
Saying, " Who was Nawadaha ? 
Tell us of this Nawadaha," 
I should answer your inquiries 
Straightway in such words as follow. 

" In the Vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley, 
By the pleasant water-courses, 
Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. 
Round about the Indian village 
Spread the meadows and the corn-fields, 
And beyond them stood the forest, 
Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, 
Green in Summer, white in Winter, 
Ever sighing, ever singing. 

" And the pleasant water-courses, 
You could trace them through the valley, 
By the rushing in the Spring-time, 
By the alders in the Summer, 
By the white fog in the Autumn, 
By the black line in the Winter ; 
And beside them dwelt the singer, 
In the Vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley. 

" There he sang of Hiawatha, 
Sang the Song of Hiawatha, 
Sang his wondrous birth and being, 
How he prayed and how he fasted, 
How he lived, and toiled, and suffered, 
That the tribes of men might prosper, 
That he might advance his people ! " 

Ye who love the haunts of Nature, 
Love the sunshine of the meadow, 
Love the shadow of the forest, 



INTRODUCTION. 233 

Love the wind among the branches, 

And the rain-shower and the snow-storm, 

And the rushing of great rivers 

Through their palisades of pine-trees, 

And the thunder in the mountains, 

Whose innumerable echoes 

Flap like eagles in their eyries ; — 

Listen to these wild traditions, 

To this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye who love a nation's legends, 

Love the ballads of a people, 

That like voices from afar off 

Call to us to pause and listen, 

Speak in tones so plain and childlike, 

Scarcely can the ear distinguish 

Whether they are sung or spoken ; — 

Listen to this Indian Legend, 

To this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, 

Who have faith in God and Nature, 

Who believe, that in all ages 
| Every human heart is human. 

That in even savage bosoms 

There are longings, yearnings, strivings 

For the good they comprehend not, 

That the feeble hands and helpless, 

Groping blindly in the darkness, 

Touch God's right hand in that darkness 
^And are lifted up and strengthened ; — i 

Listen to this simple story, / 

To this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles 

Through the green lanes of the country, 

Where the tangled barberry-bushes 

Hang their tufts of crimson berries 

Over stone walls gray with mosses, 

Pause by some neglected graveyard, 

For a while to muse, and ponder 

On a half-effaced inscription, 



re, 



234 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Written with little skill of song-craft, 
Homely phrases, but each letter 
Full of hope and yet of heart-break, 
Full of all the tender pathos 
Of the Here and the Hereafter ; — 
Stay and read this rude inscription, 
Read this Song of Hiawatha ! 



THE PEACE-PIPE. 

Ox the Mountains of the Prairie, 
On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
He the Master of Life, descending, 
On the red crags of the quarry 
Stood erect, and called the nations, 
Called the tribes of men together. 

From his footprints flowed a river, 
Leaped into the light of morning, 
O'er the precipice plunging downward 
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet. 
And the Spirit, stooping earthward, 
With his finger on the meadow 
Traced a winding pathway for it, 
Saying to it, " Run in this way ! " 

From the red stone of the quarry 
With his hand he broke a fragment, 
Moulded it into a pipe-head, 
Shaped and fashioned it with figures ; 
From the margin of the river 
Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, 
With its dark green leaves upon it ; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
With the bark of the red willow ; 
Breathed upon the neighbouring forest, 
Made its great boughs chafe together, 
Till in flame they burst and kindled ; 
And erect upon the mountains, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
Smoked the calumet, the Peace- Pipe, 
As a signal to the nations. 

And the smoke rose slowly, slowly, 
(235) 



236 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Through the tranquil air of morning, 
First a single line of darkness, 
Then a denser, bluer vapor, 
Then a snow-white cloud unfolding, 
Like the tree-tops of the forest, 
Ever rising, rising, rising, 
Till it touched the top of heaven, 
Till it broke against the heaven, 
And rolled outward all around it. 

From the Vale of Tawasentha, 
From the Valley of Wyoming, 
From the groves of Tuscaloosa, 
From the far-oif Rocky Mountains, 
From the Northern lakes and rivers, 
All the tribes beheld the signal, 
Saw the distant smoke ascending, 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe. 

And the Prophets of the nations 
Said : " Behold it, the Pukwana ! 
By this signal from afar off, 
Bending like a wand of willow, 
Waving like a hand that beckons, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
Calls the tribes of men together, 
Calls the warriors to his council ! " 

Down the rivers, o'er the prairies, 
Came the warriors of the nations, 
Came the Delawares and Mohawks, 
Came the Choctaws and Camanches, 
Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet, 
Came the Pawnees and Omawhaws, 
Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, 
Came the Hurons and Ojibways, 
All the warriors drawn together 
By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, 
To the Mountains of the Prairie, 
To the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry. 

And they stood there on the meadow, 
With their weapons and their war gear, 



THE PEACE-PIPE. 237 

Painted like the leaves of Autumn, 

Painted like the sky of morning, 

Wildly glaring at each other ; 

In their faces stern defiance, 

In their hearts the feuds of ages, 

The hereditary hatred, 

The ancestral thirst of vengeance. 

Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
The creator of the nations, 
Looked upon them with compassion, 
With paternal love and pity ; 
Looked upon their wrath and wrangling 
But as quarrels among children, 
But as feuds and fights of children ! 

Over them he stretched his right hand, 
To subdue their stubborn natures, 
To allay their thirst and fever, 
By the shadow of his right hand ; 
Spake to them with voice majestic 
As the sound of far-off waters, 
Falling into deep abysses. 
Warning, chiding, spake in this wise : — 

" O my children ! my poor children ! 
Listen to the words of wisdom, 
Listen to the words of warning, 
From the lips of the Great Spirit, 
From the Master of Life, who made you ! 

" I have given you lands to hunt in, 
I have given you streams to fish in, 
I have given you bear and bison, 
I have given you roe and reindeer, 
I have given you brant and beaver, 
Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl, 
Filled the rivers full of fishes ; 
Why then are you not contented ? 
Why then will you hunt each other ? 

" I am weary of your quarrels, 
Weary of your wars and bloodshed, 
Weary of your prayers for vengeance, 



238 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Of your wranglings and dissensions ; 
All your strength is in your union, 
All your danger is in discord ; 
Therefore be at peace henceforward, 
And as brothers live together. 

" I will send a Prophet to you, 
A Deliverer of the nations, 
Who shall guide you and shall teach you, 
Who shall toil and suffer with you. 
If you listen to his counsels, 
You will multiply and prosper ; 
If his warnings pass unheeded, 
You will fade away and perish ! 

" Bathe now in the stream before you, 
Wash the war-paint from your faces, 
Wash the blood-stains from your fingers, 
Bury your war-clubs and your weapons, 
Break the red stone from this quarry, 
Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes, 
Take the reeds that grow beside you, 
Deck them with your brightest feathers, 
Smoke the calumet together, 
And as brothers live henceforward ! " 

Then upon the ground the warriors 
Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer-skin, 
Threw their weapons and their war-gear, 
Leaped into the rushing river, 
Washed the war-paint from their faces. 
Clear above them flowed the water, 
Clear and limpid from the footprints 
Of the Master of Life descending; 
Dark below them flowed the water, 
Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson, 
As if blood were mingled with it ! 

From the river came the warriors, 
Clean and washed from all their war-paint : 
On the banks their clubs they buried, 
Buried all their warlike weapons. 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 



THE PEACE-PIPE. 239 

The Great Spirit, the creator, 
Smiled upon his helpless children ! 

And in silence all the warriors 
Broke the red stone of the quarry, 
Smoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes, 
Broke the long reeds by the river, 
Decked them with their brightest feathers, 
And departed each one homeward, 
While the Master of Life, ascending, 
Through the opening of cloud-curtains, 
Through the doorways of the heaven, 
Vanished from before their faces, 
In the smoke that rolled around him, 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe ! 



II. 

THE FOUR WINDS. 

" Honor be to Mudjekeewis!" 
Cried the warriors, cried the old men, 
When he came in triumph homeward 
With the sacred Belt of Wampum, 
From the regions of the North- Wind. 
From the kingdom of Wabasso, 
From the land of the White Rabbit. 

He had stolen the Belt of Wampum 
From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa, 
From the Great Bear of the mountains, 
From the terror of the nations, 
As he lay asleep and cumbrous 
On the summit of the mountains, 
Like a rock with mosses on it, 
Spotted brown and gray with mosses. 

Silently he stole upon him, 
Till the red nails of the monster 
Almost touched him, almost scared him, 
Till the hot breath of his nostrils 
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis, 
As he drew the Belt of Wampum 
Over the round ears, that heard not, 
Over the small eyes, that saw not, 
Over the long nose and nostrils, 
The black muffle of the nostrils, 
Out of which the heavy breathing 
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis. 

Then he swung aloft his war-club, 
Shouted loud and long his war-cry, 
Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa 
In the middle of the forehead, 
Bight between the eyes he smote him. 
(240) 



THE FOUR WINDS. 241 

With the heavy blow bewildered, 
Rose the Great Bear of the mountains ; 
But his knees beneath him trembled, 
And he whimpered like a woman, 
As he reeled and staggered forward, 
As he sat upon his haunches ; 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, 
Standing fearlessly before him, 
Taunted him in loud derision, 
Spake disdainfully in this wise : — 

" Hark you, Bear ! you are a coward, 
And no Brave, as you pretended ; 
Else you would not cry and whimper 
Like a miserable woman ! 
Bear ! you know our tribes are hostile, 
Long have been at war together ; 
Now you find that we are strongest, 
You go sneaking in the forest, 
You go hiding in the mountains ! 
Had you conquered me in battle 
Not a groan would I have uttered ; 
But you, Bear ! sit here and whimper, 
And disgrace your tribe by crying, 
Like a wretched Shaugodaya, 
Like a cowardly old woman ! " 

Then again he raised his war-club, 
Smote again the Mishe-Mokwa 
In the middle of his forehead, 
Broke his skull, as ice is broken 
When one goes to fish in Winter. 
Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa, 
He the Great Bear of the mountains, 
He the terror of the nations. 

" Honor be to Mudjekeewis ! " 
With a shout exclaimed the people, 
" Honor be to Mudjekeewis ! 
Henceforth he shall be the West- Wind, 
And hereafter and forever 
Shall he hold supreme dominion 

VOL. II. 16 



242 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Over all the winds of heaven. 

Call him no more Mudjekeewis, 

Call him Kabeyun, the West- Wind ! " 

Thus was Mudjekeewis chosen 
Father of the Winds of Heaven. 
For himself he kept the West- Wind, 
Gave the others to his children ; 
Unto Wabun gave the East- Wind, 
Gave the South to Shawondasee, 
And the North- Wind, wild and cruel, 
To the fierce Kabibonokka. 

Young and beautiful was Wabun ; 
He it was who brought the morning, 
He it was whose silver arrows 
Chased the dark o'er hill and valley ; 
He it was whose cheeks were painted 
With the brightest streaks of crimson, 
And whose voice awoke the village, 
Called the deer, and called the hunter. 

Lonely in the sky was Wabun ; 
Though the birds sang gayly to him, 
Though the wild-flowers of the meadow 
Filled the air with odors for him, 
Though the forests and the rivers 
Sang and shouted at his coming, 
Still his heart was sad within him, 
For he was alone in heaven. 

But one morning, gazing earthward, 
While the village still was sleeping, 
And the fog lay on the river, 
Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, 
He beheld a maiden walking 
All alone upon a meadow, 
Gathering water-flags and rushes 
By a river in the meadow. 

Every morning, gazing earthward, 
Still the first thing he beheld there 
Was her blue eyes looking at him, 
Two blue lakes among the rushes. 



THE FOUR WINDS. 243 

And be loved the lonely maiden, 
Who thus waited for his coming ; 
For they both were solitary, 
She on earth and he in heaven. 

And he wooed her with caresses, 
Wooed her with his smile of sunshine, 
With his fluttering words he wooed her, 
With his sighing and his singing, 
Gentlest whispers in the branches, 
Softest music, sweetest odors, 
Till he drew her to his bosom, 
Folded in his robes of crimson, 
Till into a star he changed her, 
Trembling still upon his bosom : 
And forever in the heavens 
They are seen together walking, 
Wabun and the Wabun -An nung, 
Wabun and the Star of Morning. 

But the fierce Kabibonokka 
Had his dwelling among icebergs, 
In the everlasting snow-drifts, 
In the kingdom of Wabasso, 
In the land of the White Rabbit. 
He it was whose hand in Autumn 
Painted all the trees with scarlet, 
Stained the leaves with red and yellow ; 
He it was who sent the snow-flakes, 
Sifting, hissing through the forest, 
Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers, 
Drove the loon and sea-gull southward, 
Drove the cormorant and curlew 
To their nests of sedge and sea-tang 
In the realms of Shawondasee. 

Once the fierce Kabibonokka 
Issued from his lodge of snow-drifts, 
From his home among the icebergs, 
And his hair, with snow besprinkled, 
Streamed behind him like a river, 
Like a black and wintry river, 



244 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

As he howled and hurried southward, 
Over frozen lakes and moorlands. 

There among the reeds and rushes 
Found he Shingebis, the diver, 
Trailing strings of fish behind him, 
O'er the frozen fens and moorlands, 
Lingering still among the moorlands, 
Though his tribe had long departed 
To the land of Shawondasee. 

Cried the fierce Kabibonokka, 
u Who is this that dares to brave me ? 
Dares to stay in my dominions, 
When the Wawa has departed, 
When the wild-goose has gone southward, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Long ago departed southward ? 
I will go into his wigwam, 
I will put his smouldering fire out ! " 

And at night Kabibonokka 
To the lodge came wild and wailing, 
Heaped the snow in drifts about it, 
Shouted down into the smoke-flue, 
Shook the lodge-poles in his fury, 
Flapped the curtain of the door-way. 
Shingebis, the diver, feared not, 
Shingebis, the diver, cared not ; 
Four great logs had he for fire-wood, 
One for each moon of the winter, 
And for food the fishes served him. 
By his blazing fire he sat there, _ 
Warm and merry, eating, laughing, 
Singing, " O Kabibonokka, 
You are but my fellow-mortal ! " 

Then Kabibonokka entered, 
And though Shingebis, the diver, 
Felt his presence by the coldness, 
Felt his icy breath upon him. 
Still he did not cease his singing, 
Still he did not leave his laughing, 



THE FOUR WINDS. 245 

Only turned the log a little, 
Only made the fire burn brighter, 
Made the sparks fly up the smoke-flue. 

From Kabibonokka's forehead, 
From his snow-besprinkled tresses, 
Drops of sweat fell fast and heavy, 
Making dints upon the ashes, 
As along the eaves of lodges, 
As from drooping boughs of hemlock, 
Drips the melting snow in spring-time, 
Making hollows in the snow-drifts. 

Till at last he rose defeated, 
Could not bear the heat and laughter, 
Could not bear the merry singing, 
But rushed headlong through the door-way, 
Stamped upon the crusted snow-drifts, 
Stamped upon the lakes and rivers, 
Made the snow upon them harder, 
Made the ice upon them thicker, 
Challenged Shingebis, the diver, 
To come forth and wrestle with him, 
To come forth and wrestle naked 
On the frozen fens and moorlands. 

Forth went Shingebis, the diver, 
Wrestled all night with the North- Wind, 
Wrestled naked on the moorlands 
With the fierce Kabibonokka, 
Till his panting breath grew fainter, 
Till his frozen grasp grew feebler, 
Till he reeled and staggered backward, 
And retreated, baffled, beaten, 
To the kingdom of Wabasso, 
To the land of the White Rabbit, 
Hearing still the gusty laughter, 
Hearing Shingebis, the diver, 
Singing, " O Kabibonokka, 
You are but my fellow-mortal ! " 

Shawondasee, fat and lazy, 
Had his dwelling far to southward, 



246 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

In the drowsy, dreamy sunshine, 

In the never-ending Summer. 

He it was who sent the wood-birds, 

Sent the robin, the Opechee, 

Sent the blue-bird, the Owaissa, 

Sent the Shawshaw, sent the swallow, 

Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, northward, 

Sent the melons and tobacco, 

And the grapes in purple clusters. 

From his pipe the smoke ascending 
Filled the sky with haze and vapor, 
Filled the air with dreamy softness, 
Gave a twinkle to the water, 
Touched the rugged hills with smoothness, 
Brought the tender Indian Summer 
To the melancholy north-land, 
In the dreary Moon of Snow-shoes. 

Listless, careless Shawondasee ! 
In his life he had one shadow, 
In his heart one sorrow had he. 
Once, as he was gazing northward, 
Far away upon a prairie 
He beheld a maiden standing, 
Saw a tall and slender maiden 
All alone upon a prairie ; 
Brightest green were all her garments, 
And her hair was like the sunshine. 

Day by day he gazed upon her, 
Day by day he sighed with passion, 
Day by day his heart within him 
Grew more hot with love and longing 
For the maid with yellow tresses. 
But he was too fat and lazy 
To bestir himself and woo her ; 
Yes, too indolent and easy 
To pursue her and persuade her. 
So he only gazed upon her, 
Only sat and sighed with passion 
For the maiden of the prairie. 



THE FOUR WINDS. 247 

Till one morning, looking northward, 
He beheld her yellow tresses 
Changed and covered o'er with whiteness, 
Covered as with whitest snow-flakes. 
" Ah ! my brother from the North-land. 
From the kingdom of Wabasso, 
From the land of the White Rabbit ! 
You have stolen the maiden from me, 
You have laid your hand upon her, 
You have wooed and won my maiden, 
With your stories of the North-land ! " 

Thus the wretched Shawondasee 
Breathed into the air his sorrow ; 
And the. South- Wind o'er the prairie 
Wandered warm with sighs of passion, 
With the sighs of Shawondasee, 
Till the air seemed full of snow-flakes, 
Full of thistle-down the prairie, 
And the maid with hair like sunshine 
Vanished from his sight forever ; 
Never more did Shawondasee 
See the maid with yellow tresses ! 

Poor, deluded Shawondasee ! 
'T was no woman that you gazed at, 
'T was no maiden that you sighed for, 
'T was the prairie dandelion 
That through all the dreamy Summer 
You had gazed at with such longing, 
You had sighed for with such passion, 
And had puffed away forever, 
Blown into the air with sighing. 
Ah ! deluded Shawondasee ! 

Thus the Four Winds were divided ; 
Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis 
Had their stations in the heavens ; 
At the corners of the heavens ; 
For himself the West- Wind only 
Kept the mighty Mudjekeewis. 



III. 

hiawatha's childhood. 

Downward through the evening twilight, 

In the days that are forgotten, 

In the unremembered ages, 

From the full moon fell Nokomis, 

Fell the beautiful Nokomis, 

She a wife, but not a mother. 

She was sporting with her women, 
Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, 
When her rival, the rejected, 
Full of jealousy and hatred, 
Cut the leafy swing asunder, 
Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines, 
And Nokomis fell affrighted 
Downward through the evening twilight, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
On the prairie full of blossoms. 
" See ! a star falls ! " said the people ; 
" From the sky a star is falling ! " 

There among the ferns and mosses, 
There among the prairie lilies, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
In the moonlight and the starlight, 
Fair Nokomis bore a daughter. 
And she called her name Wenonah, 
As the first-born of her daughters. 
And the daughter of Nokomis 
Grew up like the prairie lilies, 
Grew a tall and slender maiden, 
With the beauty of the moonlight, 
With the beauty of the starlight. 

And Nokomis warned her often, 
Saying oft, and oft repeating, 
(248) 



hiawatha's childhood. 249 

" O, beware of Mudjekeewis, 

Of the West- Wind, Mudjekeewis; 

Listen not to what he tells you ; 

Lie not down upon the meadow, 

Stoop not down among the lilies, 

Lest the West- Wind come and harm you ! " 

But she heeded not the warning, 
Heeded not those words of wisdom, 
And the West- Wind came at evening, 
Walking lightly o'er the prairie, 
Whispering to the leaves and blossoms, 
Bending low the flowers and grasses, 
Found the beautiful Wenonah, 
Lying there among the lilies, 
Wooed her with his words of sweetness, 
Wooed her with his soft caresses, 
Till she bore a son in sorrow, 
Bore a son of love and sorrow. 

Thus was born my Hiawatha, 
Thus was born the child of wonder ; 
But the daughter of Nokomis, 
Hiawatha's gentle mother, 
In her anguish died deserted 
By the West- Wind, false and faithless, 
By the heartless Mudjekeewis. 

For her daughter, long and loudly 
Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis ; 
" O that I were dead ! " she murmured, 
" O that I were dead, as thou art ! 
No more work, and no more weeping, 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big- Sea- Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it rose the forest, 
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, 
Rose the firs with cones upon them ; 
Bright before it beat the water, 



250 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Beat the clear and sunny water, 
Beat the shining Big-Sea- Water. 

There the wrinkled, old Nokomis 
Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
Rocked him in his linden cradle, 
Bedded soft in moss and rushes, 
Safely bound with reindeer sinews ; 
Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
" Hush ! the Naked Bear will get thee ! " 
Lulled him into slumber, singing, 
" Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! 
Who is this, that lights the wigwam ? 
With his great eyes lights the wigwam ? 
Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! " 

Many things Nokomis taught him 
Of the stars that shine in heaven ; 
Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Ishkodah, with fiery tresses ; 
Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, 
Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs, 
Flaring far away to northward 
In the frosty nights of Winter ; 
Showed the broad, white road in heaven, 
Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, 
Running straight across the heavens, 
Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. 

At the door on summer evenings 
Sat the little Hiawatha ; 
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, 
Heard the lapping of the water, 
Sounds of music, words of wonder ; 
" Minne-wawa ! " said the pine-trees, 
" Mudway-aushka ! " said the water. 

Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting through the dusk of evening, 
With the twinkle of its candle 
Lighting up the brakes and bushes, 
And he sang the song of children, 
Sang the song Nokomis taught him : 



hiawatha's childhood. 251 

" Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, 
Little, flitting, white-fire insect, 
Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
Light me with your little candle, 
Ere upon my bed I lay me, 
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! " 

Saw the moon rise from the water 
Rippling, rounding from the water, 
Saw the flecks and shadows on it, 
Whispered, " What is that, Nokoniis ? " 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
" Once a warrior, very angry, 
Seized his grandmother, and threw her 
Up into the sky at midnight ; 
Right against the moon he threw her ; 
'T is her body that you see there." 

Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 
In the eastern sky, the rainbow, 
Whispered, " What is that, Nokomis ? " 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
" 'T is the heaven of flowers you see there ; 
All the wild-flowers of the forest, 
All the lilies of the prairie, 
When on earth they fade and perish, 
Blossom in that heaven above us." 

When he heard the owls at midnight, 
Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
p What is that ? " he cried in terror ; 
" What is that ? " he said, " Nokomis ? " 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
I That is but the owl and owlet, 
Talking in their native language, 
Talking, scolding at each other." 

Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How they built their nests in Summer, 
Where they hid themselves in Winter, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them " Hiawatha's Chickens." 



252 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Of all beasts he learned the language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How the beavers built their lodges, 1 
Where the squirrels hid their acorns, 
How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 
Why the rabbit was so timid, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them " Hiawatha's Brothers." 

Then Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
He the traveller and the talker, 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 
Made a bow for Hiawatha ; 
From a branch of ash he made it, 
From an oak-bough made the arrows, 
Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers, 
And the cord he made of deer-skin. 

Then he said to Hiawatha : 
" Go, my son, into the forest, 
Where the red deer herd together, 
Kill for us a famous roebuck, 
Kill for us a deer with antlers ! " 

Forth into the forest straightway 
All alone walked Hiawatha 
Proudly, with his bow and arrows ; 
And the birds sang round him, o'er him, 
" Do not shoot us Hiawatha ! " 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
Sang the blue-bird, the Owaissa, 
" Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! " 

Up the oak-tree, close beside him, 
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
In and out among the branches, 
Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree, 
Laughed, and said between his laughing, 
" Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! " 

And the rabbit from his pathway 
Leaped aside, and at a distance 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 



Hiawatha's childhood. 253 

Half in fear and half in frolic, 

Saying to the little hunter, 

" I)o not shoot me, Hiawatha ! " 

But he heeded not, nor heard them, 
For his thoughts were with the red deer ; 
On their tracks his eyes were fastened, 
Leading downward to the river, 
To the ford across the river, 
And as one in slumber walked he. 

Hidden in the alder-bushes, 
There he waited till the deer came, 
Till he saw two antlers lifted, 
Saw two eyes look from the thicket, 
Saw two nostrils point to windward, 
And a deer came down the pathway, 
Flecked with leafy light and shadow. 
And his heart within him ilattered, 
Trembled like the leaves above him, 
Like the birch-leaf palpitated, 
As the deer came down the pathway. 

Then, upon one knee uprising, 
Hiawatha aimed an arrow ; 
Scarce a twig moved with his motion, 
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, 
But the wary roebuck started, 
Stamped with all his hoofs together, 
Listened with one foot uplifted, 
Leaped as if to meet the arrow ; 
Ah ! the singing, fatal arrow, 
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him ! 

Dead he lay there in the forest, 
By the ford across the river ; 
Beat his timid heart no longer, 
But the heart of Hiawatha 
Throbbed and shouted and exulted, 
As he bore the red deer homeward, 
And Iagoo and Nokomis 
Hailed his coming with applauses. 

From the red deer's hide Nokomis 



254 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Made a cloak for Hiawatha, 
From the red deer's flesh Nokomis 
Made a banquet in his honor. 
All the village came and feasted, 
All the guests praised Hiawatha, 
Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge-taha ! 
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee ! 






IV. 

HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. 

Out of childhood into manhood 
Now had grown my Hiawatha, 
Skilled in all the craft of hunters, 
Learned in all the lore of old men, 
In all youthful sports and pastimes, 
In all manly arts and labors. 

Swift of foot was Hiawatha ; 
He could shoot an arrow from him, 
And run forward with such fleetness, 
That the arrow fell behind him ! 
Strong of arm was Hiawatha ; 
He could shoot ten arrows upward, 
Shoot them with such strength and swiftness, 
That the tenth had left the bow-string 
Ere the first to earth had fallen ! 

He had mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Magic mittens made of deer-skin ; 
When upon his hands he wore them, 
He could smite the rocks asunder, 
He could grind them into powder. 
He had moccasins enchanted, 
Magic moccasins of deer-skin ; 
When he bound them round his ankles 
When upon his feet he tied them, 
At each stride a mile he measured ! 

Much he questioned old Nokomis 
Of his father Mudjekeewis ; 
Learned from her the fatal secret 
Of the beauty of his mother, 
Of the falsehood of his father ; 
And his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 



256 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Then he said to old Nokomis, 
"I will go to Mudjekeewis, 
See how fares it with my father, 
At the doorways of the West- Wind, 
At the portals of the Sunset ! " 

From his lodge went Hiawatha, 
Dressed for travel, armed for hunting ; 
Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings, 
Richly wrought with quills and wampum ; 
On his head his eagle-feathers, 
Round his waist his belt of wampum, 
In his hand his bow of ash-wood, 
Strung with sinews of the reindeer ; 
In his quiver oaken arrows, 
Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers ; 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
With his moccasins enchanted. 

Warning said the old Nokomis, 
" Go not forth, O Hiawatha ! 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind, 
To the realms of Mudjekeewis, 
Lest he harm you with his magic, 
Lest he kill you with his cunning ! " 

But the fearless Hiawatha 
Heeded not her woman's warning ; 
Forth he strode into the forest, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Lurid seemed the sky above him, 
Lurid seemed the earth beneath him, 
Hot and close the air around him, 
Filled with smoke and fiery vapors, 
As of burning woods and prairies, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

So he journeyed westward, westward, 
Left the fleetest deer behind him, 
Left the antelope and bison ; 
Crossed the rushing Esconawbaw, 
Crossed the mighty Mississippi, 



HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. 257 

Passed the Mountains of the Prairie, 
Passed the land of Crows and Foxes, 
Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, 
Came unto the Rocky Mountains, 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind, 
Where upon the gusty summits 
Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis, 
Ruler of the winds of heaven. 

Filled with awe was Hiawatha 
At the aspect of his father. 
On the air about him wildly 
Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses, 
Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses, 
Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Like the star with fiery tresses. 

Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis 
When he looked on Hiawatha, 
Saw his youth rise up before him 
In the face of Hiawatha, 
Saw the beauty of Wenonah 
From the grave rise up before him. 

" Welcome ! " said he, " Hiawatha, 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind ! 
Long have I been waiting for you ! 
Youth is lovely, age is lonely, 
Youth is fiery, age is frosty ; 
You bring back the days departed, 
You bring back my youth of passion, 
And the beautiful Wenonah ! " 

Many days they talked together, 
Questioned, listened, waited, answered ; 
Much the mighty Mudjekeewis 
Boasted of his ancient prowess, 
Of his perilous adventures, 
His indomitable courage, 
His invulnerable body. 

Patiently sat Hiawatha, 
Listening to his father's boasting ; 
With a smile he sat and listened, 

vol. n. 17 



258 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Uttered neither threat nor menace, 
Neither word nor look betrayed him, 
But his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

Then he said, " O Mudjekeewis, 
Is there nothing that can harm you ? 
Nothing that you are afraid of? " 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, 
Grand and gracious in his boasting, 
Answered, saying, "There is nothing, 
Nothing but the black rock yonder, 
Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek ! " 

And he looked at Hiawatha 
With a wise look and benignant, 
With a countenance paternal, 
Looked with pride upon the beauty 
Of his tall and graceful figure, 
Saying, " O my Hiawatha ! 
Is there any thing can harm you V 
Anything you are afraid of ? 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Paused awhile, as if uncertain, 
Held his peace, as if resolving, 
And then answered, " There is nothing, 
Nothing but the bulrush yonder, 
Nothing but the great Apukwa ! " 

And as Mudjekeewis, rising, 
Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush, 
Hiawatha cried in terror, 
Cried in well-dissembled terror, 
" Kago ! kago ! do not touch it ! " 
" Ah, kaween !" said Mudjekeewis, 
" No indeed, I will not touch it ! " 

Then they talked of other matters ; 
First of Hiawatha's brothers, 
First of Wabun, of the East- Wind, 
Of the South- Wind, Shawondasee, 
Of the North, Kabibonokka ; 
Then of Hiawatha's mother, 



HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. 259 

Of the beautiful Wenonah, 
Of her birth upon the meadow, 
Of her death, as old Nokomis 
Had remembered and related. 

And he cried, " O Mudjekeewis, 
It was you who killed Wenonah, 
Took her young life and her beauty, 
Broke the Lily of the Prairie, 
Trampled it beneath your footsteps ; 
You confess it ! you confess it ! " 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis 
Tossed upon the wind his tresses, 
Bowed his hoary head in anguish, 
With a silent nod assented. 

Then up started Hiawatha, 
And with threatening look and gesture 
Laid his hand upon the black rock, 
On the fatal Wawbeek laid it, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Rent the jutting crag asunder, 
Smote and crushed it into fragments, 
Hurled them madly at his father, 
The remorseful Mudjekeewis, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

But the ruler of the West-AVind 
Blew the fragments backward from him, 
With the breathing of his nostrils, 
With the tempest of his anger, 
Blew them back at his assailant ; 
Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, 
Dragged it with its roots and fibres 
JFrom the margin of the meadow, 
From its ooze, the giant bulrush ; 
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha ! 

Then began the deadly conflict, 
Hand to hand among the mountains ; 
From his eyrie screamed the eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle ; 



260 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Sat upon the crags around them, 
Wheeling flapped his wings above them.. 

Like a tall tree in the tempest 
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush ; 
And in masses huge and heavy 
Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek ; 
Till the earth shook with the tumult 
And confusion of the battle, 
And the air was full of shoutings, 
And the thunder of the mountains, 
Starting, answered, " Baim-wawa ! " 

Back retreated Mudjekeewis, 
Rushing westward o'er the mountains, 
Stumbling westward down the mountains, 
Three whole days retreated fighting, 
Still pursued by Hiawatha 
To the doorways of the West- Wind, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the earth's remotest border, 
Where into the empty spaces 
Sinks the sun, as a flamingo 
Drops into her nest at nightfall, 
In the melancholy marshes. 

" Hold ! " at length cried Mudjekeewis, 
" Hold, my son, my Hiawatha ! 
'Tis impossible to kill me, 
For you cannot kill the immortal. 
I have put you to this trial, 
But to know and prove your courage ; 
Now receive the prize of valor ! 

" Go back to your home and people, 
Live among them, toil among them, 
Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, 
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, 
Slay all monsters and magicians, 
All the Wendigoes, the giants, 
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, 
As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa, 
Slew the Great Bear of the mountains. 



HIAWATHA AND MUBJEKEEWIS. 261 

"And at last when Death draws near you, 
When the awful eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon you in the darkness, 
I will share my kingdom with you, 
Ruler shall you be thenceforward 
Of the Northwest- Wind, Keewaydin, 
Of the home- wind, the Keewaydin." 

Thus was fought that famous battle 
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, 
In the days long since departed, 
In the kingdom of the West- Wind. 
Still the hunter sees its traces 
Scattered far o'er hill and valley ; 
Sees the giant bulrush growing 
By the ponds and water-courses, 
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek 
Lying still in every valley. 

Homeward now went Hiawatha ; 
Pleasant was the landscape round him, 
Pleasant was the air above him, 
For the bitterness of anger 
Had departed wholly from him, 
From his brain the thought of vengeance, 
From his heart the burning fever. 

Only once his pace he slackened, 
Only once he paused or halted, 
Paused to purchase heads of arrows 
Of the ancient Arrow-inaker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Where the Falls of Minnehaha 
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, 
Laugh and leap into the valley. 

There the ancient Arrow-maker 
Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, 
Hard and polished, keen and costly. 

With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, 



262 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Wayward as the Minnehaha, 

With her moods of shade and sunshine, 

Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, 

Feet as rapid as the river, 

Tresses flowing like the water, 

And as musical a laughter ; 

And he named her from the river, 

From the water-fall he named her, 

Minnehaha, Laughing Water. 

Was it then for heads of arrows, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
That my Hiawatha halted 
In the land of the Daeotahs ? 

Was it not to see the maiden, 
See the face of Laughing Water 
Peeping from behind the curtain, 
Hear the rustling of her garments 
From behind the waving curtain, 
As one sees the Minnehaha 
Gleaming, glancing through the branches, 
As one hears the Laughing Water 
From behind its screen of branches ? 

Who shall say what thoughts and visions 
Fill the fiery brains of young men ? 
Who shall say what dreams of beauty 
Filled the heart of Hiawatha V 
All he told to old Nokomis, 
When he reached the lodge at sunset, 
Was the meeting with his father, 
Was his fight with Mudjekeewis ; 
Not a word he said of arrows, 
Not a word of Laudiins Water ! 



V. 



HIAWATHA S FASTING. 



You shall hear how Hiawatha 
Prayed and fasted in the forest, 



Not for triumphs in the battle, 
And renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 

First he built a lodge for fasting, 
Built a wigwam in the forest, 
By the shining Big- Sea- Water, 
In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time, 
In the Moon of Leaves he built it, 
And, with dreams and visions many, 
Seven whole days and nights he fasted. 

On the first day of his fasting 
Through the leafy woods he wandered ; 
Saw the deer start from the thicket, 
Saw the rabbit in his burrow, 
Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming, 
Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Rattling in his hoard of acorns, 
Saw the pigeon, the Omeme, 
Building nests among the pine-trees, 
And in flocks the wild goose, TVawa, 
Flying to the fen-lands northward, 
Whirring, wailing far above him. 
" Master of Life ! " he cried, desponding, 
" Must our lives depend on these things ?' 

On the next day of his fasting 
By the river's brink he wandered, 
Through the Muskoday, the meadow, 
(263) 



264 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee, 

Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, 

And the strawberry, Odahmin, 

And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, 

And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut, 

Trailing o'er the alder-branches, 

Filling all the air with fragrance ! 

" Master of Life ! " he cried, desponding, 

" Must our lives depend on these things ? " 

On the third day of his fasting 
By the lake he sat and pondered, 
By the still, transparent water ; 
Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, 
Scattering drops like beads of wampum, 
Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
And the herring, Okahahwis, 
And the Shawgashee, the craw-fish ! 
" Master of Life ! " he cried, desponding, 
" Must our lives depend on these things ? " 

On the fourth day of his fasting 
In his lodge he lay exhausted ; 
From his couch of leaves and branches 
Gazing with half-open eyelids, 
Full of shadowy dreams and visions, 
On the dizzy, swimming landscape, 
On the gleaming of the water, 
On the splendor of the sunset. 

And he saw a youth approaching, 
Dressed in garments green and yellow, 
Coming through the purple twilight, 
Through the splendor of the sunset ; 
Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, 
And his hair was soft and golden. 

Standing at the open doorway, 
Long he looked at Hiawatha, 
Looked with pity and compassion 
On his wasted form and features, 



& 



hiawatha's fasting. 265 

And, in accents like the sighing 
Of the South- Wind in the tree-tops, 
Said he, " O my Hiawatha ! 
All your prayers are heard in heaven, 
For you pray not like the others, 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumph in the battle, 
Nor renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 

" From the Master of Life descending. 
I, the friend of man, Mondamin, 
Come to warn you and instruct you, 
How by struggle and by labor 
You shall gain what you have prayed for, 
Rise up from your bed of branches, 
Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me ! " 

Faint with famine, Hiawatha 
Started from his bed of branches 
From the twilight of his wigwani 
Forth into the flush of sunset 
Came, and wrestled with Mondamin ; 
At his touch he felt new courage 
Throbbing in bis brain and bosom, 
Felt new life and hope and vigor 
Run through every nerve and fibre. 

So they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset. 
And the more they strove and struggled, 
Stronger still grew Hiawatha ; 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a scream of pain and famine. 

" 'T is enough ! " then said Mondamin, 
Smiling upon Hiawatha, 
" But to-morrow, when the sun sets, 



266 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

I will come again to try you." 
And lie vanished, and was seen not ; 
Whether sinking as the rain sinks, 
Whether rising as the mists rise, 
Hiawatha saw not, knew not, 
Only saw that he had vanished, 
Leaving him alone and fainting, 
With the misty lake below him, 
And the reeling stars above him. 

On the morrow and the next day, 
When the sun through heaven descending, 
Like a red and burning cinder, 
From the hearth of the Great Spirit, 
Fell into the western waters, 
Came Mondamin for the trial, 
For the strife with Hiawatha ; 
Came as silent as the dew comes, 
From the empty air appearing, 
Into empty air returning, 
Taking shape when earth it touches, 
But invisible to all men 
In its coming and its going. 

Thrice they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-slmh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Uttered her loud cry of famine, 
And Mondamin paused to listen. 

Tall and beautiful he stood there, 
In his garments green and yellow ; 
To and fro his plumes above him 
Waved and nodded with his breathing, 
And the sweat of the encounter 
Stood like drops of dew upon him. 

And he cried, " O Hiawatha ! 
Bravely have you wrestled with me, 
Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me, 
And the Master of Life, who sees us, 
He will give to you the triumph ! " 



hiawatha's fasting. 267 

Then he smiled, and said : " Tomorrow 
Is the last day of your conflict, 
Is the last day of your fasting. 
You will conquer and o'ercome me ; 
Make a bed for me to lie in, 
Where the rain may fall upon me, 
Where the sun may come and warm me ; 
Strip these garments, green and yellow, 
Strip this nodding plumage from me, 
Lay me in the earth, and make it 
Soft and loose and light above me. 

" Let no hand disturb my slumber, 
Let no weed nor worm molest me, 
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, 
Come to haunt me and molest me, 
Only come yourself to watch me, 
Till I wake, and start, and quicken, 
Till I leap into the sunshine." 

And thus saying, he departed ; 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha, 
But he heard the Wawonaissa, 
Heard the whippoorwill complaining, 
Perched upon his lonely wigwam ; 
Heard the rushing Sebowislia, 
Heard the rivulet rippling near him, 
Talking to the darksome forest ; 
Heard the sighing of the branches, 
As they lifted and subsided 
At the passing of the night- wind, 
Heard them, as one hears in slumber 
Far-off' murmurs, dreamy whispers : 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha. 

On the morrow came Nokomis, 
On the seventh day of his fasting, 
Came with food for Hiawatha, 
Came imploring and bewailing, 
Lest his hunger should o'ercome him, 
Lest his fasting should be fatal. 

But he tasted not, and touched not, 



268 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Only said to her, "Nokomis, 
Wait until the sun is setting, 
Till the darkness falls around us, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Crying from the desolate marshes, 
Tells us that the day is ended." 

Homeward weeping went Nokomis, 
Sorrowing for her Hiawatha, 
Fearing lest his strength should fail him, 
Lest his fasting should be fatal. 
He meanwhile sat weary waiting 
For the coming of Mondamin, 
Till the shadows, pointing eastward, 
Lengthened over field and forest, 
Till the sun dropped from the heaven, 
Floating on the waters westward, 
As a red leaf in the Autumn 
Falls and floats upon the water, 
Falls and sinks into its bosom. 

And behold ! the young Mondamin, 
With his soft and shining tresses, 
With his garments green and yellow, 
With his long and glossy plumage, 
Stood and beckoned at the doorway. 
And as one in slumber walking, 
Pale and haggard, but undaunted, 
From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Came and wrestled with Mondamin. 

Round about him spun the landscape, 
Sky and forest reeled together, 
And his strong heart leaped within him, 
As the sturgeon leaps and struggles 
In a net to break its meshes. 
Like a ring of fire around him 
Blazed and flared the red horizon, 
And a hundred suns seemed looking 
At the combat of the wrestlers. 

Suddenly upon the greensward 
All alone stood HiaAvatha, 



HIAWATHA'S FASTING. 269 

Panting with his wild exertion, 
Palpitating with the struggle ; 
And before him, breathless, lifeless, 
Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled, 
Plumage torn, and garments tattered, 
Dead he lay there in the sunset. 

And victorious Hiawatha 
Made the grave as he commanded, 
Stripped the garments from Mondamin, 
Stripped his tattered plumage from him, 
Laid him in the earth, and made it 
Soft and loose and light above him ; 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From the melancholy moorlands, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a cry of pain and anguish ! 

Homeward then went Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis, 
And the seven days of his fasting 
Were accomplished and completed, 
But the place was not forgotten 
Where he wrestled with Mondamin ; 
Nor forgotten nor neglected 
Was the grave where lay Mondamin, 
Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, 
Where his scattered plumes and garments 
Faded in the rain and sunshine. 

Day by day did Hiawatha 
Go to wait and watch beside it ; 
Kept the dark mould soft above it, 
Kept it clean from weeds and insects, 
Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings, 
Kahgahgee, the king of ravens. 

Till at length a small green feather 
From the earth shot slowly upward, 
Then another and another. 
And before the Summer ended 
Stood the maize in all its beauty, 
With its shining robes about it, 



270 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

And its long, soft, yellow tresses ; 
And in rapture Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin ! 
Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin ! " 

Then he called to old Nokomis 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
Showed them where the maize was growing, 
Told them of his wondrous vision, 
Of his wrestling and his triumph, 
Of this new gift to the nations, 
Which should be their food forever. 

And still later, when the Autumn 
Changed the long, green leaves to yellow, 
And the soft and juicy kernels 
Grew like wampum hard and yellow, 
Then the ripened ears he gathered, 
Stripped the withered husks from off them, 
As he once had stripped the wrestler, 
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, 
And made known unto the people 
This new gift of the Great Spirit. 



VI. 

hiawatha's friends. 

Two good friends had Hiawatha, 

Singled out from all the others, 

Bound to him in closest union, 

And to whom he gave the right hand 

Of his heart, in joy and sorrow ; 

Chibiabos, the musician, 

And the very strong man, Kwasind. 

Straight between them ran the pathway, 
Never grew the grass upon it ; 
Singing birds, that utter falsehoods, 
Story-tellers, mischief-makers, 
Found no eager ear to listen, 
Could not breed ill-will between them, 
For they kept each other's counsel, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 

Most beloved by Hiawatha 
Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 
He the sweetest of all singers. 
Beautiful and childlike was he, 
Brave as man is, soft as woman, 
Pliant as a wand of Avillow, 
Stately as a deer with antlers. 

When he sang, the village listened ; 
All the warriors gathered round him, 
All the women came to hear him ; 
Now he stirred their souls to passion, 
Now he melted them to pity. 

From the hollow reeds he fashioned 
Flutes so musical and mellow, 
(271) 



272 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

That the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Ceased to murmur in the woodland. 
That the wood-birds ceased from singing, 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Sat upright to look and listen. 

Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Pausing, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach my waves to flow in music, 
Softly as your words in singing ! " 

Yes, the blue-bird, the Ovvaissa, 
Envious, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as wild and wayward, 
Teach me songs as full of frenzy ! " 

Yes, the robin, the Opechee, 
Joyous, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as sweet and tender, 
Teach me songs as full of gladness ! " 

And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, 
Sobbing, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as melancholy, 
Teach me songs as full of sadness ! " 

All the many sounds of nature 
Borrowed sweetness from his singing ; 
All the hearts of men were softened 
By the pathos of his music ; 
For he sang of peace and freedom, 
Sang of beauty, love, and longing ; 
Sang of death, and life undying 
In the Islands of the Blessed, 
In the kingdom of Ponemah, 
In the land of the Hereafter. 

Very dear to Hiawatha 
AVas the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 
He the sweetest of all singers ; 
For his gentleness he loved him, 
And the magic of his singing. 



Hiawatha's FRIENDS. 273 

Dear, too, unto Hiawatha 
Was the very strong man, Kwasind, 
He the strongest of all mortals, 
He the mightiest among many ; 
For his very strength he loved him, 
For his strength allied to goodness. 

Idle in his youth was Kwasind, 
Very listless, dull, and dreamy, 
Never played with other children, 
Never fished and never hunted, 
Not like other children was he ; 
But they saw that much he fasted, 
Much his Manito entreated, 
Much besought his Guardian Spirit. 

" Lazy Kwasind ! " said his mother, 
" In my work you never help me ! 
In the Summer you are roaming 
Idly in the fields and forests ; 
In the Winter you are cowering 
O'er the firebrands in the wigwam ! 
In the coldest days of Winter 
I must break the ice for fishing ; 
With my nets you never help me ! 
At the door my nets are hanging, 
Dripping, freezing with the water ; 
Go and wring them, Yenadizze ! 
Go and dry them in the sunshine ! " 

Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind 
Rose, but made no angry answer ; 
From the lodge went forth in silence, 
Took the nets, that hung together, 
Dripping, freezing at the doorway, 
Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, 
Like a wisp of straw he broke them, 
Could not wring them without breaking, 
Such the strength was in his fingers. 

" Lazy Kwasind ! " said his father, 
I In the hunt you never help me ; 
Every bow you touch is broken, 

VOL II. 18 



274 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Snapped asunder every arrow ; 
Yet come with me to the forest, 
You shall bring the hunting homeward. 
Down a narrow pass they wandered, 
Where a brooklet led them onward, 
Where the trail of deer and bison 
Marked the soft mud on the margin, 
Till they found all further passage 
Shut against them, barred securely 
By the°trunks of trees uprooted, 
Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, 
And forbidding further passage. 

« We must go back," said the old man, 
" O'er these logs we cannot clamber ; 
Not a woodchuck could get through them, 
Not a squirrel clamber o'er them ! " 
And straightway his pipe he lighted, 
And sat down to smoke and ponder. 
But before his pipe was finished, > 
Lo ! the path was cleared before him ; 
All the trunks had Kwasiud lifted, 
To the right hand, to the left hand, 
Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, 
Hurled the cedars light as lances. 

» Lazy Kwasind ! " said the young men, 
As thev sported in the meadow ; 
« Why stand idly looking at us, 
Leaning on the rock behind you ? 
Come and wrestle with the others, 
Let us pitch the quoit together ! " 

Lazy Kwasind made no answer, 
To their challenge made no answer, 
Only rose, and, slowly turning, 
Seized the huge rock in his fingers, 
Tore it from its deep foundation, 
Poised it in the air a moment, 
Pitched it sheer into the river, 
Sheer into the swift Pauwatmg, 
Where it still is seen in Summer. 



hiawatha's friends. 275 

Once as down that foaming river, 
Down the rapids of Pauwating, 
Kwasind sailed with his companions, 
In the stream he saw a beaver, 
Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers, 
Struggling with the rushing currents, 
Rising, sinking m the water. 

Without speaking, without pausing, 
Kwasind leaped into the river, 
Plunged beneath the bubbling surface, 
Through the whirlpools chased the beaver, 
Followed him among the islands, 
Stayed so long beneath the water, 
That his terrified companions 
Cried, " Alas ! good bye to Kwasind ! 
We shall never more see Kwasind ! " 
But he reappeared triumphant, 
And upon his shining shoulders 
Brought the beaver, dead and dripping, 
Brought the King of all the Beavers. 

And these two, as I have told you, 
Were the friends of Hiawatha, 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind. 
Long they lived in peace together, 
Spake with naked' hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 



VII 

HIAWATHA'S SAILING. 

" Give me of your bark, Birch-Tree ! 
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree ! 
Growing by the rushing river, 
Tall and stately in the valley ! 
I a light canoe will build me, 
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, 
That shall float upon the river, 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily ! 

" Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-Tree ! 
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, 
For the Summer-time is coming, 
And the sun is warm in heaven, 
And you need no white-skin wrapper ! " 

Thus aloud cried Hiawatha 
In the solitary forest, 
By the rushing Taquamenaw, 
When the birds were singing gayly, 
In the Moon of Leaves were singing, 
And the sun, from sleep awaking, 
Started up and said, " Behold me ! 
Geezis, the great Sun, behold me ! " 

And the tree with all its branches 
Rustled in the breeze of morning, 
Saying, with a sigh of patience, 
" Take my cloak, O Hiawatha ! " 

With his knife the tree he girdled ; 
Just beneath its lowest branches, 
Just above the roots, he cut it, 
Till the sap came oozing outward ; 
Down the trunk, from top to bottom, 
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, 

(276) 



hiawatha's sailing. 277 

With a wooden wedge he raised it. 
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. 

" Give me of your boughs, O Cedar ! 
Of your strong and pliant branches, 
My canoe to make more steady, 
Make more strong and firm beneath me ! " 

Through the summit of the Cedar 
Went a sound, a cry of horror, 
Went a murmur of resistance ; 
But it whispered, bending downward, 
" Take my boughs, O Hiawatha ! " 

Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, 
Shaped them straightway to a framework, 
Like two bows he formed and shaped them, 
Like two bended bows together. 

" Give me of your roots, O Tamarack ! 
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-Tree ! 
My canoe to bind together, 
So to bind the ends together 
That the water may not enter, 
That the river may not wet me ! " 

And the Larch, with all its fibres, 
Shivered in the air of morning, 
Touched his forehead with its tassels, 
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, 
" Take them all, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the. earth he tore the fibres, 
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-Tree, 
Closely sewed the bark together, 
Bound it closely to the framework. 

" Give me of your balm, O Fir-Tree ! 
Of your balsam and your resin, 
So to close the seams together 
That the water may not enter, 
That the river may not wet me ! " 

And the Fir-Tree, tall and sombre, 
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness, 
Rattled like a shore with pebbles, 
Answered wailing, answered weeping, 



278 THE SONG OP HIAWATHA. 

" Take my balm, HiaVatha ! " 

And he took the tears of balsam, 
Took the resin of the Fir-Tree, 
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, 
Made each crevice safe from water. 

" Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog ! 
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog ! 
I will make a necklace of them, 
Make a girdle for my beauty, 
And two stars to deck her bosom ! " 

From a hollow tree the Hedgehog 
With his sleepy eyes looked at him, 
Shot his shining quills, like arrows, 
Saying, with a drowsy murmur, 
Through the tangle of his whiskers, 
" Take my quills, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the ground the quills he gathered, 
All the little shining arrows, 
Stained them red and blue and yellow, 
With the juice of roots and berries ; 
Into his canoe he wrought them, 
Round its waist a shining girdle, 
Round its bows a gleaming necklace, 
On its breast two stars resplendent. 

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded 
In the valley, by the river, 
In the bosom of the forest ; 
And the forest's life was in it, 
All its mystery and its magic, 
All the lightness of the birch-tree, 
All the toughness of the cedar, 
All the larch's supple sinews ; 
And it floated on the river 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily. 

Paddles none had Hiawatha, 
Paddles none he had or needed, 
For his thoughts as paddles served him, 
And his wishes served to guide him ; 



HIAWATHA'S SAILIXG. 279 

Swift or slow at will he glided, 
Veered to right or left at pleasure. 

Then he called aloud to Kwasind, 
To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, 
Saying, " Help me clear this river 
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars." 

Straight into the river Kwasind 
Plunged as if he were an otter, 
Dived as if he were a beaver, 
Stood up to his waist in water. 
To his arm-pits in the river, 
Swam and shouted in the river, 
Tugged at sunken logs and branches, 
With his hands he scooped the sand-bars, 
With his feet the ooze and tangle. 

And thus sailed my Hiawatha 
Down the rushing Taquamenaw, 
Sailed through all its bends and windings, 
Sailed through all its deeps and shallows, 
While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, 
Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. 

Up and down the river went they, 
In and out among its islands, 
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar, 
Dragged the dead trees from its channel, 
Made its passage safe and certain, 
Made a pathway for the people, 
From its springs among the mountains, 
To the waters of Pauwating, 
To the bay of Taquamenaw. 



VIII. 

HIAWATHA'S FISHING. 

Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, 
On the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
With his fishing-line of cedar, 
Of the twisted bark of cedar, 
Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, 
Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, 
In his birch canoe exulting 
All alone went Hiawatha. 

Through the clear, transparent water 
He could see the fishes swimming 
Far down in the depths below him ; 
See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, 
Like a spider on the bottom, 
On the white and sandy bottom. 

At the stern sat Hiawatha, 
With his fishing-line of cedar ; 
In his plumes the breeze of morning 
Played as in the hemlock branches ; 
On the bows, with tail erected, 
Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo ; 
In his fur the breeze of morning 
Played as in the prairie grasses. 

On the white sand of the bottom 
Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, 
Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes ; 
Through his gills he breathed the water, 
With his fins he fanned and winnowed, 
With his tail he swept the sand-floor. 

There he lay in all his armor ; 
On each side a shield to guard him, 
(280) 



hiawatha's fishing.- 281 

Plates of bone upon his forehead, 
Down his sides and back and shoulders 
Plates of bone with spines projecting ! 
Painted was he with his war-paints, 
Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, 
Spots of brown and spots of sable ; 
And he lay there on the bottom, 
Fanning with his fins of purple, 
As above him Hiawatha 
In his birch canoe came sailing, 
With his fishing line of cedar. 

" Take my bait ! " cried Hiawatha, 
Down into the depths beneath him, 
'•Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Xahma! 
Come up from below the water, 
Let us see which is the stronger ! " 
And he dropped his line of cedar 
Through the clear, transparent water, 
Waited vainly for an answer, 
Long sat waiting for an answer, 
And repeating loud and louder, 
" Take my bait, O King of Fishes ! " 

Quiet lay the sturgeon, Xahma, 
Fanning slowly in the water, 
Looking up at Hiawatha, 
Listening to his call and clamor, 
His unnecessary tumult, 
Till he wearied of the shouting ; 
And he said to the Kenozha, 
To the pike, the Maskenozha, 
" Take the bait of this rude fellow, 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! " 

In his fingers Hiawatha 
Felt the loose line jerk and tighten ; 
As he drew it in, it tugged so 
That the birch canoe stood endwise, 
Like a birch log in the water, 
With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Perched and frisking on the summit. 



282 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Full of scorn was Hiawatha 
When he saAv the fish rise upward, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Coming nearer, nearer to him, 
And he shouted through the water, 
" Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are but the pike, Kenozha, 
You are not the fish I wanted, 
You are not the King of Fishes ! " 

Reeling downward to the bottom 
Sank the pike in great confusion, 
And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, 
Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
To the bream, with scales of crimson, 
" Take the bait of this great boaster, 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! " 

Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming, 
Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
Seized the line of Hiawatha, 
Swung with all his weight upon it, 
Made a whirlpool in the water, 
Whirled the birch canoe in circles, 
Round and round in gurgling eddies, 
Till the circles in the water 
Reached the far-off sandy beaches, 
Till the water-flags and rushes 
Nodded on the distant margins. 

But when Hiawatha saw him 
Slowly rising through the water, 
Lifting up his disk refulgent, 
Loud he shouted in derision, 
" Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
You are not the fish I wanted, 
You are not the King of Fishes ! " 
Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming, 
Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Heard the shout of Hiawatha, 



hiawatha's fishing. 283 

Heard his challenge of defiance, 
The unnecessary tumult, 
Ringing far across the water. 

From the white sand of the bottom 
Up he rose with angry gesture, 
Quivering in each nerve and fibre, 
Clashing all his plates of armor, 
Gleaming bright with all his war-paint ; 
In his wrath he darted upward, 
Flashing leaped into the sunshine, 
Opened his great jaws, and swallowed 
Both canoe and Hiawatha. 

Down into that darksome cavern 
Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, 
As a log on some black river 
Shoots and plunges down the rapids, 
Found himself in utter darkness, 
Groped about in helpless wonder, 
Till he felt a great heart beating, 
Throbbing in that utter darkness. 

And he smote it in his anger, 
With his fist, the heart of Nahma, 
Felt the mighty King of Fishes 
Shudder through eaeh nerve and fibre, 
Heard the water gurgle round him 
As he leaped and staggered through it, 
Sick at heart, and faint and weary. 

Crosswise then did Hiawatha 
Drag his birch-canoe for safety, 
Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, 
In the turmoil and confusion, 
Forth he might be hurled and perish. 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Frisked and chattered very gayly, 
Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha 
Till the labor was completed. 

Then said Hiawatha to him, 
u O my little friend, the squirrel, 
Bravely have you toiled to help me ; 



284 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Take the thanks of Hiawatha, 

And the name which now he gives you : 

For hereafter and forever 

Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, 

Tail-in-air the boys shall call you ! " 

And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Gasped and quivered in the water, 
Then was still, and drifted landward 
Till he grated on the pebbles, 
Till the listening Hiawatha 
Heard him grate upon the margin, 
Felt him strand upon the pebbles, 
Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, 
Lay there dead upon the margin. 

Then he heard a clang and napping, 
As of many wings assembling, 
Heard a screaming and confusion, 
As of birds of prey contending, 
Saw a gleam of light above him, 
Shining through the ribs of Nahma, 
Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, 
Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, 
Gazing at him through the opening, 
Heard them saying to each other, 
" 'T is our brother, Hiawatha ! " 

And he shouted from below them, 
Cried exulting from the caverns : 
" O ye sea-gulls ! O my brothers ! 
I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma; 
Make the rifts a little larger, 
With your claws the openings widen, 
Set me free from this dark prison, 
And henceforward and forever 
Men shall speak of your achievements, 
Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, 
Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers ! " 

And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls 
Toiled with beak and claws together, 
Made the rifts and openings wider 



HIAWATHA S FISHING. 285 



In the mighty ribs of Nahma, 
And from peril and from prison, 
From the body of the sturgeon, 
From the peril of the water, 
They released my Hiawatha. 

He was standing near his wigwam, 
On the margin of the water, 
And he called to old Nokomis, 
Called and beckoned to Nokomis, 
Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Lying lifeless on the pebbles, 
With the sea-gulls feeding on him. 

" I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, 
Slain the King of Fishes ! " said he ; 
" Look ! the sea-gulls feed upon him, 
Yes, my friend Kayoshk, the sea-gulls ; 
Drive them not away, Nokomis, 
They have saved me from great peril 
In the body of the sturgeon, 
Wait until their meal is ended, 
Till their craws are full with feasting, 
Till they homeward fly, at sunset, 
To their nests among the marshes ; 
Then bring all your pots and kettles, 
And make oil for us in Winter." 

And she waited till the sun set, 
Till the pallid moon, the night-sun, 
Rose above the tranquil water, 
Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, 
From their banquet rose with clamor, 
And across the fiery sunset 
W r inged their way to far-off islands, 
To their nests among the rushes. 

To his sleep went Hiawatha, 
And Nokomis to her labor, 
Toiling patient in the moonlight, 
Till the sun and moon changed places, 
Till the sky was red with sunrise, 
And Kavoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, 



286 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Came back from the reedy islands, 
Clamorous for their morning banquet. 

Three whole days and nights alternate 
Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls 
Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, 
Till the waves washed through the rib-bones, 
Till the sea-gulls came no longer, 
And upon the sands lay nothing 
But the skeleton of Nahma. 



IX. 

HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 

On the shores of Gitche Gnmee, 
Of the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
Stood Nokomis, the old woman, 
Pointing with her finger westward, 
O'er the water pointing westward, 
To the purple clouds of sunset. 

Fiercely the red sun descending 
Burned his way along the heavens, 
Set the sky on fire behind him, 
As war-parties, when retreating, 
Burn the prairies on their war-trail ; 
And the moon, the Night-Sun, eastward, 
Suddenly starting from his ambush, 
Followed fast those bloody footprints, 
Followed in that fiery war-trail, 
With its glare upon its features. 

And Nokomis, the old woman, 
Pointing with her finger westward, 
Spake these words to Hiawatha : 
" Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather, 
Megissogwon, the Magician, 
Manito of Wealth and Wampum, 
Guarded by his fiery serpents, 
Guarded by the black pitch-water. 
You can see his fiery serpents, 
The Kenabeek, the great serpents, 
Coiling, playing in the water ; 
You can see the black pitch-water 
Stretching far away beyond them, 
To the purple clouds of sunset ! 

" He it was who slew my father, 
By his wicked wiles and cunning, 
When he from the moon descended, 
(287) 



288 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

When he came on earth to seek me. 
He, the mightiest of Magicians, 
Sends the fever from the marshes, 
Sends the pestilential vapors, 
Sends the poisonous exhalations, 
Sends the white fog from the fen-lands, 
Sends disease and death among us ! 

" Take your bow, O Hiawatha, 
Take your arrows, jasper-headed, 
Take your war-club, Puggawaugun, 
And your mittens, Minjekahwun, 
And your birch-canoe for sailing, 
And the oil of Mishe-Nahma, 
So to smear its sides, that swiftly 
You may pass the black pitch-water ; 
Slay this merciless magician, 
Save the people from the fever 
That he breathes across the fen-lands, 
And avenge my father's murder ! " 

Straightway then my Hiawatha 
Armed himself with all his war-gear, 
Launched his birch-canoe for sailing ; 
With his palm its sides he patted, 
Said with glee, " Cheemaun, my darling, 
O my Birch-Canoe ! leap forward, 
Where you see the fiery serpents, 
Where you see the black pitch-water ! " 

Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting, 
And the noble Hiawatha 
Sang his war-song wild and woful, 
And above him the war-eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Master of all fowls with feathers, 
Screamed and hurtled through the heavens. 

Soon he reached the fiery serpents, 
The Kenabeck, the great serpents, 
Lying huge upon the water, 
Sparkling, rippling in the water, 
Lying coiled across the passage, 



HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 289" 

With their blazing crests uplifted, 

Breathing fiery fogs and vapors, 

So that none could pass beyond them. 

But the fearless Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, and spake in this wise : 
" Let me pass my way, Kenabeek, 
Let me go upon my journey ! " 
And they answered, hissing fiercely, 
With their fiery breath made answer : 
" Back, go back ! O Shaugodaya ! 
Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart ! " 

Then the angry Hiawatha 
Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
Seized his arrows, jasper-headed. 
Shot them fast among the serpents ; 
Every twanging of the bow-string 
Was a war-cry and a death-cry, 
Every whizzing of an arrow 
Was a death-song of Kenabeek. 

Weltering in the bloody water, 
Dead lay all the fiery serpents, 
And among them Hiawatha 
Harmless sailed, and cried exulting: 
" Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling ! 
Onward to the black pitch-water ! " 

Then he took the oil of Nahma, 
And the bows and sides anointed, 
Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly 
He might pass the black pitch-water. 

All night long he sailed upon it, 
Sailed upon that sluggish water, 
Covered with its mould of ages, 
Black with rotting water-rushes, 
Rank with flags and leaves of lilies, 
Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, 
Lighted by the shimmering moonlight, 
And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined, 
Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled, 
In their weary night-encampments. 

VOL. II. 19 



290 THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 

All the air was white with moonlight, 
All the water black with shadow, 
And around him the Suggema, 
The mosquitos, sang their war-song, 
And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Waved their torches to mislead him ; 
And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, 
Thrust his head into the moonlight, 
Fixed his yellow eyes upon him, 
Sobbed and sank beneath the surface ; 
And anon a thousand whistles, 
Answered over all the fen-lands, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Far off on the reedy margin, 
Heralded the hero's coming. 

Westward thus fared Hiawatha, 
Toward the realm of Megissogwon, 
Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather, 
Till the level moon stared at him, 
In his face stared pale and haggard, 
Till the sun was hot behind him, 
Till it burned upon his shoulders, 
And before him on the upland 
He could see the Shining Wigwam 
Of the Manito of Wampum, 
Of the mightiest of Magicians. 

Then once more Cheemaun he patted, 
To his birch-canoe said, " Onward ! " 
And it stirred in all its fibres, 
And with one great bound of triumph 
Leaped across the water-lilies, 
Leaped through tangled flags and rushes, 
And upon the beach beyond them 
Dry-shod landed Hiawatha. 

Straight he took his bow of ash-tree, 
On the sand one end he rested, 
Witihi his knee he pressed the middle, 
Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter, 
Took an arrow, jasper-headed, 



HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 291 

Shot it at the Shining Wigwam, 

Sent it singing as a herald, 

As a bearer of his message, 

Of his challenge lond and lofty : 

" Come forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather ! 

Hiawatha waits your coming ! " 

Straightway from the Shining Wigwam 
Came the mighty Megissogwon, 
Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, 
Dark and terrible in aspect, 
Clad from head to foot in wampum, 
Armed with all his warlike weapons, 
Fainted like the sky of morning, 
Streaked with crimson, blue and yellow, 
Crested with great eagle-feathers, 
Streaming upward, streaming outward. 

" Well I know you, Hiawatha ! " 
Cried he in a voice of thunder, 
In a tone of loud derision. 
" Hasten back, O Shaugodaya ! 
Hasten back among the women, 
Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart ! 
I will slay you as you stand there, 
As of old I slew her father ! " 

But my Hiawatha answered, 
Nothing daunted, fearing nothing : 
" Big words do not smite like war-clubs, 
Boastful breath is not a bow-string, 
Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, 
Deeds are better things than words are, 
Actions mightier than boastings ! " 

Then began the greatest battle 
That the sun had ever looked on, 
That the war-birds ever witnessed. 
All a Summer's day it lasted, 
From the sunrise to the sunset ; 
For the shafts of Hiawatha 
Harmless hit the shirt of wampum, 
Harmless fell the blows he dealt it 



292 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Harmless fell the heavy war-club ; 
It could dash the rocks asunder, 
But it could not break the meshes 
Of that magic shirt of wampum. 

Till at sunset Hiawatha, 
Leaning on his bow of ash-tree, 
Wounded, weary, and desponding, 
With his mighty war-club broken, 
With his mittens torn and tattered, 
And three useless arrows only, 
Paused "to rest beneath a pine-tree, 
From whose branches trailed the mosses, 
And whose trunk was coated over 
With the Dead-man's Moccasin-leather, 
With the fungus white and yellow. 

Suddenly from the boughs above him 
Sang the Mama, the woodpecker : 
" Aim your arrows, Hiawatha, 
At the head of Megissogwon, 
Strike the tuft of hair upon it, 
At their roots the long black tresses ; 
There alone can he be wounded ! " 

Winged with feathers, tipped with jasper, 
Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow, 
Just as Megissogwon, stooping, 
Raised a heavy stone to throw it. 
Full upon the crown it struck him, 
At the roots of his long tresses, 
And he reeled and staggered forward, 
Plunging like a wounded bison, 
Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison, 
When the snow is on the prairie. 

Swifter flew the second arrow, 
In the pathway of the other, 
Piercing deeper than the other, 
Wounding sorer than the other ; 
And the knees of Megissogwon 
Shook like windy reeds beneath him, 
Bent and trembled like the rushes. 



HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 293 

But the third and latest arrow 
Swiftest flew, and wounded sorest, 
And the mighty Megissogwon 
Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk, 
Saw the eyes of Death glare at him, 
Heard his voice call in the darkness; 
At the feet of Hiawatha 
Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather, 
Lay the mightiest of Magicians. 

Then the grateful Hiawatha 
Called the Mama, the woodpecker, 
From his perch among the branches 
Of the melancholy pine-tree, 
And, in honor of his service, 
Stained with blood the tuft of feathers 
On the little head of Mama ; 
Even to this day he wears it, 
Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, 
As a symbol of his service. 

Then he stripped the shirt of wampum 
From the back of Megissogwon, 
As a trophy of the battle, 
As a signal of his conquest. 
On the shore he left the body, 
Half on land and half in water, 
In the sand his feet were buried, 
And his face was in the water. 
And above him, wheeled and clamored 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Sailing round in narrower circles, 
Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer. 

From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Bore the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All his wealth of skins and wampum, 
Furs of bison and of beaver, 
Furs of sable and of ermine, 
Wampum belts and strings and pouches, 
Quivers wrought with beads of wampum, 
Filled with arrows, silver-headed. 



294 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Homeward then he sailed exulting, 
Homeward through the black pitch-water, 
Homeward through the weltering serpents, 
With the trophies of the battle, 
With a shout and song of triumph. 
On the shore stood old Nokomis, 
On the shore stood Chibiabos, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
Waiting for the hero's coming, 
Listening to his song of triumph. 
And the people of the village 
Welcomed him with songs and dances, 
Made a joyous feast, and shouted: 
" Honor be to Hiawatha ! 
He has slain the great Pearl-Feather, 
Slain the mightiest of Magicians, 
Him, who sent the fiery fever, 
Sent the white fog from the fen-lands, 
Sent disease and death among us ! " 

Ever dear to Hiawatha 
Was the memory of Mama ! 
And in token of his friendship, 
As a mark of his remembrance, 
He adorned and decked his pipe-stem 
With the crimson tuft of feathers, 
With the blood-red crest of Mama. 
But the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All the trophies of the battle, 
He divided with his people, 
Shared it equally among them. 



X. 

hiawatha's wooing. 

" As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman, . 

Though she bends him, she obeys him, —y _.■ 

Though she draws him, yet she follows, V ' 
Useless each without the other ! " / jf 

Thus the youthful Hiawatha / ' f 
Said within himself and pondered, 
Much perplexed by various feelings, 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 
Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

" Wed a maiden of your people," 
Warning said the old Nokomis ; 
" Go not eastward, go not westward, 
For a stranger, whom we know not ! 
Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers ! " 

Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight, 
But I like the starlight better, 
Better do I like the moonlight ! " 

Gravely then said old JSIokomis : 
" Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman, 
Hands unskilful, feet unwilling ; 
Bring a wife with nimble fingers, 
Heart and hand that move together, 
Feet that run on willing errands ! " 
'(295) 



296 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Smiling answered Hiawatha : 
" In the land of the Dacotahs 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women. 
I will bring her to your wigwam, 
She shall run upon your errands, 
Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 
Be the sunlight of my people ! " 

Still dissuading said Nokomis : 
' k Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Dacotahs 1 
Very fierce are the Dacotahs, 
Often is there war between us, 
There are feuds yet unforgotten, 
Wounds that ache and still may open I " 

Laughing answered Hiawatha : 
" For that reason, if no other, 
Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united, 
That old feuds might be forgotten, 
And old wounds be healed forever 1 " 

Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Dacotahs, 
To the land of handsome women ; 
Striding over moor and meadow, 
Through interminable forests, 
Through uninterrupted silence. 

With his moccasins of magic, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Yet the way seemed long before him, 
And his heart outran his footsteps ; 
And he journeyed without resting, 
Till he heard the cataract's laughter, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to him through the silence. 
" Pleasant is the sound 1" he murmured, 
" Pleasant is the voice that calls me I " 

On the outskirts of the forest, 



HIAWATHA'S WOOING. 297 

'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
Herds of fallow deer were feeding, 
But they saw not Hiawatha ; 
To his bow he whispered, " Fail not ! " 
To his arrow whispered, " Swerve not ! " 
Sent it singing on its errand, 
To the red heart of the roebuck ; 
Threw the deer across his shoulder, 
And sped forward without pausing. 

At the doorway of his wigwam 
Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Making arrow-heads of jasper, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony. 
At his side, in all her beauty, 
Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 
Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, 
Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; 
Of the past the old man's thoughts were, 
And the maiden's of the future. 

He was thinking, as he sat there, 
Of the days when with such arrows 
He had struck the deer and bison, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow ; 
Shot the wild goose, flying southward, 
On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; 
Thinking of tlfe great war-parties, 
How they came to buy his arrows, 
Could not fight without his arrows. 
Ah, no more such noble warriors 
Could be found on earth as they were ; 
Now the men were all like women, 
Only used their tongues for weapons ! 

She was thinking of a hunter, 
From another tribe and country, 
Young and tall and very handsome, 
Who one morning, in the Spring-time, 
Came to buy her father's arrows, 
Sat and rested in the wigwam, 



298' THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

4 

Lingered long about the doorway, 
Lookirfg back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise him, 
Praise his courage and his wisdom ; 
Would he come again for arrows 
To the falls of Minnehaha ? 
On the mat her hands lay idle, 
And her eyes were very dreamy. 

Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 
Heard a rustling in the branches, 
And with glowing cheek and forehead, 
With the deer upon his shoulders, 
Suddenly from out the woodlands 
Hiawatha stood before them. 

Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
Looked up gravely from his labor, 
Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
Bade him enter at the doorway, 
Saying, as he rose to meet him, 
" Hiawatha, you are welcome ! " 

At the feet of Laughing Water 
Hiawatha laid his burden, 
Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; 
And the maiden looked up at him, 
Looked up from her mat of rushes, 
Said with gentle look and accent, 
" You are welcome, Hiawatha ! " 

Very spacious was the wigwam, 
Made of deer-skin dressed and whitened, 
With the Gods of the Dacotahs 
Drawn and painted on its curtains, 
And so tall the doorway, hardly 
Hiawatha stooped to enter, 
Hardly touched his eagle-feathers 
As he entered at the doorway. 

Then uprose the Laughing Water, 
From the ground fair Minnehaha, 
Laid aside her mat unfinished, 
Brought forth food and set before them, 



HIAWATHA'S WOOING. 209 

Water brought them from the brooklet, 
Gave them food in earthen vessels, 
Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, 
Listened while the guest was speaking, 
Listened while her father answered, 
But not once her lips she opened, 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 
As he talked of old Kokomis, 
Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
As he told of his companions, 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
And of happiness and plenty 
In the land of the Ojibways, 
In the pleasant land and peaceful. 

" After many years of warfare, 
Many years of strife and bloodshed, 
There is peace between the Ojibways 
And the tribe of the Daeotah-' " 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slow|p* 
u That this peace may last forcer. 
And our hands be clasped more closely, 
And our hearts be more united, 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah women ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Paused a moment ere he answered, 
Smoked a little Avhile in silence, 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly, 
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 
And made answer very gravely : 
" Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! " 

And the lovely Laughing Water 
Seemed more lovely, as she stood there,. 



300 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Neither willing nor reluctant, 
As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him, 
While she said, and blushed to say it, 
" I will follow you, my husband ! " 

This was Hiawatha's wooing ! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! 

From the wigwam he departed, 
Leading with him Laughing Water ; 
Hand in hand they went together, 
Through the woodland and the meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to them from the distance, 
Crying to them from afar off, 
" Fare thee well, O Minnehaha ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labor, 
Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
Murmuring to himself, and saying : 
" Thus it is our daughters leave us, 
Those we love, and those who love us ! 
Just when they have learned to help us, 
When we are old and lean upon them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, 
With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village, 
Beckons to the fairest maiden, 
And she follows where he leads her, 
Leaving all things for the stranger ! " 

Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
Through interminable forests, 
Over meadow, over mountain, 
Over river, hill, and hollow. 
Short it seemed to Hiawatha, 
Though they journeyed very slowly, 



hiawatiia's wooing. 301 

Though his pace he cheeked and slackened 
To the steps of Laughing Water. 

Over wide and rushing rivers 
In his arms he bore the maiden ; 
Light he thought her as a feather, 
As the plume upon his head-gear ; 
Cleared the tangled pathway for her, 
Bent aside the swaying branches, 
Made at night a lodge of branches, 
And a bed with boughs of hemlock, 
And a fire before the doorway 
With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 

All the travelling winds went with them, 
O'er the meadow, through the forest ; 
All the stars of night looked at them, 
Watched with sleepless eyes their slumber ; 
From his ambush in the oak-tree 
Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Scampered from the path before them, 
Peering, peeping from his burrow, 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 

Pleasant was the journey homeward ! 
All the birds sang loud and sweetly 
Songs of happiness and heart's-ease ; 
Sang the blue-bird, the Owaissa, 
" Happy are you, Hiawatha, 
Having such a wife to love you ! " 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
" Happy are you, Laughing Water, 
Having such a noble husband ! " 

From the sky the sun benignant 
Looked upon them through the branches, 
Saying to them, " O my children, 
Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, 
Life is checkered shade and sunshine, 
Rule by love, O Hiawatha ! " 



302 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

From the sky the moon looked at them, 
Filled the lodge with mystic splendors, 
Whispered to them, " O my children, 
Day is restless, night is quiet, 
Man imperious, woman feeble ; 
Half is mine, although I follow ; 
Rule by patience, Laughing Water ! " 

Thus it was they journeyed homeward ; 
Thus it was that Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis 
Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight, 
Brought the sunshine of his people, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
In the land of handsome women. 



XI. 

hiawatha's weddixg-feast. 

You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
How the handsome Yenadizze 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding ; 
How the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the sweetest of musicians, 
Sang his songs of love and longing ; 
How Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
Told his tales of strange adventure, 
That the feast might be more joyous, 
That the time might pass more gayly, 
And the guests be more contented. 

Sumptuous was the feast Nokomis 
Made at Hiawatha's wedding ; 
All the bowls were made of bass-wood, 
White and polished very smoothly, 
All the spoons of horn of bison, 
Black and polished very smoothly. 

She had sent through all the village 
Messengers with wands of willow, 
As a sign of invitation, 
As a token of the feasting ; 
And the wedding guests assembled, 
Clad in all their richest raiment, 
Robes of fur and belts of wampum, 
Splendid with their paint and plumage, 
Beautiful with beads and tassels. 

First they ate the sturgeon, Nahina, 
jAnd the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Caught and cooked by old Nokomis ; 
Then on pemican they feasted, 
Pemican and buffalo marroAv, 
(303) 



304 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Haunch of deer and hump of bison, 
Yellow cakes of the Mondamin, 
And the wild rice of the river. 

But the gracious Hiawatha, 
And the lovely Laughing Water, 
And the careful old Nokomis, 
Tasted not the food before them, 
Only waited on the others, 
Only served their guests in silence. 

And when all the guests had finished, 
Old Nokomis, brisk and busy, 
From an ample pouch of otter, 
Filled the red stone pipes for smoking 
With tobacco from the South-land, 
Mixed with bark of the red willow, 
And with herbs and leaves of fragrance. 

Then she said, " O Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Dance for us your merry dances, 
Dance the Beggar's Dance to please us, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gayly, 
And our guests be more contented ! " 

Then the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
He the idle Yenadizze, 
He the merry mischief-maker, 
Whom the people called the Storm-Fool, 
Rose among the guests assembled. 

Skilled was he in sports and pastimes, 
In the merry dance of snow-shoes, 
In the play of quoits and ball-play ; 
Skilled was he in games of hazard, 
In all games of skill and hazard, 
Pugasaing, the Bowl and Counters, 
Kuntassoo, the Game of Plum-stones. 

Though the warriors called him Faint-Heart, 
Called him coward, Shaugodaya, 
Idler, gambler, Yenadizze, 
Little heeded he their jesting, 
Little cared he for their insults, 



HIAWATHA'S WEDDING-FEAST. 305 

For the women and the maidens 
Loved the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

He was dressed in shirt of doe-skin, 
White and soft, and fringed with ermine, 
All inwrought with beads of wampum; 
He was dressed in deer-skin leggings, 
Fringed with hedgehog quills and ermine, 
And in moccasins of buck-skin, 
Thick with quills and beads embroidered. 
On his head were plumes of swan's down, 
On his heels were tails of foxes, 
In one hand a fan of feathers, 
And a pipe was in the other. 

Barred with streaks of red and yellow, 
Streaks of blue and bright vermilion, 
Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
From his forehead fell his tresses, 
Smooth, and parted like a woman's, 
Shining bright with oil, and plaited, 
Hung with braids of scented grasses, 
As among the guests assembled, 
To the sound of flutes and singing, 
To the sound of drums and voices, 
Rose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
And began his mystic dances. 

First he danced a solemn measure, 
Very slow in step and gesture, 
In and out among the pine-trees, 
Through the shadows and the sunshine, 
Treading softly like a panther. 
Then more swiftly and still swifter, 
Whirling, spinning round in circles, 
Leaping o'er the guests assembled, 
Eddying round and round the wigwam, 
Till the leaves went whirling with him, 
Till the dust and wind together 
Swept in eddies round about him. 

Then along the sandy margin 
Of the lake, the Big-Sea- Water, 

vol. ii. 20 



306 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

On he sped with frenzied gestures, . 
Stamped upon the sand, and tossed it 
Wildly in the air around him ; _ 
Till the wind became a whirlwind, 
Till the sand was blown and sifted 
Like great snowdrifts o'er the landscape, 
Heaping all the shores with Sand Dunes, 
Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo ! 
Thus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Danced his Beggar's Dance to please them, 
And, returning, sat down laughing 
There among the guests assembled, 
Sat and fanned himself serenely 
With his fan of turkey-feathers. 

Then they said to Chibiabos, 
To the friend of Hiawatha, 
To the sweetest of all singers, 
To the best of all musicians, 
" Sing to us, O Chibiabos ! 
Songs of love and songs of longing, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gayly, 
And our guests be more contented ! " 

And the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang in accents sweet and tender, 
Sang in tones of deep emotion, ^ 
Songs of love and songs of longing ; 
Looking still at Hiawatha, 
Looking at fair Laughing Water, 
Sang he softly, sang in this wise : 
" Onaway ! Awake, beloved ! 
Thou the wild-flower of the forest ! 
Thou the wild-bird of the prairie ! 
Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like ! 

" If thou only lookest at me, 
I am happy, I am happy, 
As the lilies of the prairie, 
When they feel the dew upon them ! 
" Sweet thy breath is as the fragrance 



hiawatha's weddixg-feast. 307 



As their fragrance is at evening, 

In the Moon when leaves are falling. 

" Does not all the blood within me 
Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, 
As the springs to meet the sunshine, 
In the Moon when nights are brightest ? 

" Onaway ! my heart sings to thee, 
Sings with joy when thou art near me, 
As the sighing, singing brandies 
In the pleasant Moon of Strawberries ! 

" When thou art not pleased, beloved, 
Then my heart is sad and darkened, 
As the shining river darkens. 
When the clouds drop shadows on it ! 

•' When thou smilest, my beloved, 
Then my troubled heart is brightened, 
As in sunshine gleam the ripples 
That the cold wind makes in rivers. 

" Smiles the earth, and smile the waters, 
Smile the cloudless skies above us, 
But I lose the way of smiling 
When thou art no longer near me ! 

" I myself, myself ! behold me ! 
Blood of my beating heart, behold me ! 
O aAvake, awake, beloved ! 
Onaway ! awake, beloved ! " 

Thus the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang his song of love and longing ; 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 
Jealous of the sweet musician, 
Jealous of the applause they gave him, 
Saw in all the eyes around him, 
Saw in all their looks and gestures, 
That the wedding guests assembled 
Longed to hear his pleasant stories, 
His immeasurable falsehoods. 



308 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Very boastful was Iagoo ; 
Never heard he an adventure 
But himself had met a greater ; 
Never any deed of daring 
But himself had done a bolder ; 
Never any marvellous story 
But himself could tell a stranger. 

Would you listen to his boasting, 
Would you only give him credence, 
No one ever shot an arrow 
Half so far and high as he had ; 
Ever caught so many fishes, 
Ever killed so many reindeer, 
Ever trapped so many beaver ! 

None could run so fast as he could, 
None could dive so deep as he could, 
None could swim so far as he could ; 
None had made so many journeys, 
None had seen so many wonders, 
As this wonderful Iagoo, 
As this marvellous story-teller ! 

Thus his name became a by- word 
And a jest among the people ; 
And whene'er a boastful hunter 
Praised his own address too highly, 
Or a warrior, home returning, 
Talked too much of his achievements, 
All his hearers cried, " Iagoo ! 
Here 's Iagoo come among us ! " 

He it was who carved the cradle 
Of the little Hiawatha, 
Carved its framework out of linden, 
Bound it strong with reindeer sinews ; 
He it was who taught him later 
How to make his bows and arrows, 
How to make the bows of ash-tree, 
And the arrows of the oak-tree. 
So among the guests assembled 
At my Hiawatha's wedding 



hiawatha's wedding-feast. 309 

Sat Iagoo, old and ugly, 

Sat the marvellous story-teller. 

And they said, " O good Iagoo, 
Tell us now a tale of wonder, 
Tell us of some strange adventure, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gayly, 
And our guests be more contented ! " 

And Iagoo answered straightway, 
" You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
You shall hear the strange adventures 
Of Osseo, the Magician, 
From the Evening Star descended." 



XII. 

THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 

Can it be the sun descending 
O'er the level plain of water ? 
Or the Red Swan floating, flying, 
Wounded by the magic arrow, 
Staining all the waves with crimson, 
With the crimson of its life-blood, 
Filling all the air with splendor, 
With the splendor of its plumage ? 

Yes ; it is the sun descending, 
Sinking down into the water ; 
All the sky is stained with purple, 
All the water flushed with crimson ! 
No ; it is the Red Swan floating, 
Diving down beneath the water ; 
To the sky its wings are lifted, 
With its blood the waves are reddened ! 

Over it the Star of Evening 
Melts and trembles through the purple, 
Hangs suspended in the twilight. 
No ; it is a bead of wampum 
On the robes of the Great Spirit, 
As he passes through the twilight, 
Walks in silence through the heavens ! 

This with joy beheld Iagoo 
And he said in haste : " Behold it ! 
See the sacred Star of Evening ! 
You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
Hear the story of Osseo, 
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo ! 

" Once, in days no more remembered, 
Ages nearer the beginning, 
When the heavens were closer to us, 
(310) 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 311 

And the Gods were more familiar, 
In the North-land lived a hunter, 
With ten young and cornel)' daughters, 
Tall and lithe as wands of willow; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
She the wilful and the wayward, 
She the silent, dreamy maiden, 
Was the fairest of the sisters. 

" All these women married warriors, 
Married brave and haughty husbands; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
Laughed and flouted all her lovers, 
All her young and handsome suitors, 
And then married old Osseo, 
Old Osseo, poor and ugly, 
Broken with age and weak with coughing, 
Always coughing like a squirrel. 

" Ah, but beautiful within him 
Was the spirit of Osseo, 
From the Evening Star descended, 
Star of Evening, Star of Woman, 
Star of tenderness and passion ! 
All its fire was in his bosom 
All its beauty in his spirit, 
All its mystery in his being, 
All its splendor in his language ! 

" And her lovers, the rejected, 
Handsome men with belts of wampum, 
Handsome men with paint and feathers, 
Pointed at her in derision, 
Followed her with jest and laughter. 
But she said : ' I care not for you, 
Care not for your belts of wampum, 
Care not for your paint and feathers, 
Care not for your jests and laughter ; 
I am happy with Osseo ! ' 

" Once to some great feast invited, 
Through the damp and dusk of evening 
Walked together the ten sisters, 



312 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Walked together with their husbands ; 
Slowly followed old Osseo, 
With fair Oweenee beside him ; 
All the others chatted gayly, 
These two only walked in silence. 

" At the western sky Osseo 
Gazed intent, as if imploring, 
Often stopped and gazed imploring 
At the trembling Star of Evening, 
At the tender Star of Woman ; 
And they heard him murmur softly, 
' Ah, showain nemeshin, Nosa ! 
Pity, pity me, my father ! ' 

" ' Listen ! ' said the eldest sister, 
' He is praying to his father ! 
What a pity that the old man 
Does not stumble in the pathway, 
Does not break his neck by falling ! ' 
And they laughed till all the forest 
Rang with their unseemly laughter. 

" On their pathway through the woodlands 
Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, 
Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, 
Buried half in leaves and mosses, 
Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hollow 
And Osseo, when he saw it, 
Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, 
Leaped into its yawning cavern, 
At one end went in an old man, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ; 
From the other came a young man, 
Tall and straight and strong and handsome. 

" Thus Osseo was transfigured, 
Thus restored to youth and beauty ; 
But, alas for good Osseo, 
And for Oweenee, the faithful ! 
Strangely, too, was she transfigured. 
Changed into a weak old woman, 
With a staff she tottered onward, 



THE SOX OF THE EVENING STAR. 313 

Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ! 
And the sisters and their husbands 
Laughed until the echoing forest 
Rang with their unseemly laughter. 

" But Osseo turned not from her, 
Walked with slower step beside her, 
Took her hand, as brown and withered 
As an oak-leaf is in Winter, 
Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, 
Soothed her with soft words of kindness, 
Till they reached the lodge of feasting, 
Till they sat down in the wigwam, 
Sacred to the Star of Evening, 
To the tender Star of Woman. 

" Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, 
At the banquet sat Osseo ; 
All were merry, all were happy, 
All were joyous but Osseo. 
Neither food nor drink he tasted, 
Neither did he speak nor listen, 
But as one bewildered sat he, 
Looking dreamily and sadly, 
First at Oweenee, then upward 
At the gleaming sky above them. 

" Then a voice was heard, a whisper, 
Coming from the starry distance, 
Coming from the empty vastness, 
Low, and musical, and tender ; 
And the voice said : ' O Osseo ! 
O my son, my best beloved ! 
Broken are the spells that bound you, 
All the charms of the magicians, 
All the magic powers of evil ; 
Come to me ; ascend, Osseo! 

" ' Taste the food that stands before you : 
It is blessed and enchanted, 
It has magic virtues in it, 
It will change you to a spirit. 
All your bowls and all your kettles 



314 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Shall be wood and clay no longer ; 
But the bowls be changed to wampum, 
And the kettles shall be silver ; 
They shall shine like shells of scarlet, 
Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer. 

" ' And the women shall no longer 
Bear the dreary doom of labor, 
But be changed to birds, and glisten 
With the beauty of the starlight, 
Painted with the dusky splendors 
Of the skies and clouds of evening ! ' 

" What Osseo heard as whispers, 
What as words he comprehended, 
Was but music to- the others, 
Music as of birds afar off, 
Of the whippoorwill afar off, 
Of the lonely Wawonaissa 
Singing in the darksome forest. 

" Then the lodge began to tremble, 
Straight began to shake and tremble, 
And they felt it rising, rising, 
Slowly through the air ascending, 
From the darkness of the tree-tops 
Forth into the dewy starlight, 
Till it passed the topmost branches ; 
And behold ! the wooden dishes 
All were changed to shells of scarlet ! 
And behold ! the earthen kettles 
All were changed to bowls of silver ! 
And the roof-poles of the wigwam 
Were as glittering rods of silver, 
And the roof of bark upon them 
As the shining shards of beetles. 

" Then Osseo gazed around him, 
And he saw the nine fair sisters, 
All the sisters and their husbands, 
Changed to birds of various plumage. 
Some were jays and some were magpies, 
Others thrushes, others blackbirds ; 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 315 

And they hopped, and sang, and twittered, 
Perked and fluttered all their feathers, 
Strutted in their shining plumage, 
And their tails like fans unfolded. 

" Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
Was not changed, but sat in silence, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, 
Looking sadly at the others ; 
Till Osseo, gazing upward, 
Gave another cry of anguish, 
Such a cry as he had uttered 
By the oak-tree in the forest. 

" Then returned her youth and beauty, 
And her soiled and tattered garments 
Were transformed to robes of ermine, 
And her staff became a feather, 
Yes, a shining silver feather ! 

" And again the wigwam trembled, 
Swayed and rushed through airy currents, 
Through transparent cloud and vapor, 
And amid celestial splendors 
On the Evening Star alighted, 
As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake, 
As a leaf drops on a river, 
As the thistle-down on water. 

" Forth Avith cheerful words of welcome 
Came the father of Osseo, 
He with radiant locks of silver, 
He with eyes serene and tender. 
And he said : ' My son, Osseo, 
Hang the cage of birds you bring there, 
Hang the cage with rods of silver, 
And the birds with glistening feathers, 
At the doorway of my wigwam.' 

" At the door he hung the bird-cage, 
And they entered in and gladly 
Listened to Osseo's father, 
Ruler of the Star of Evening, 
As he said : ' O my Osseo ! 



316 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

I have had compassion on you, 

Given you back your youth and beauty, 

Into birds of various plumage 

Changed your sisters and their husbands ; 

Changed them thus because they mocked you 

In the figure of the old man, 

In that aspect sad and wrinkled, 

Could not see your heart of passion, 

Could not see your youth immortal ; 

Only Oweenee, the faithful, 

Saw your naked heart and loved you. 

" ' In the lodge that glimmers yonder 
In the little star that twinkles 
Through the vapors, on the left hand, 
Lives the envious Evil Spirit, 
The Wabeno, the magician, 
Who transformed you to an old man. 
Take heed lest his beams fall on you, 
For the rays he darts around him 
Are the power of his enchantment, 
Are the arrows that he uses.' 

" Many years, in peace and quiet, 
On the peaceful Star of Evening 
Dwelt Osseo with his father ; 
Many years, in song and flutter, 
At the doorway of the wigwam, 
Hung the cage with rods of silver, 
And fair Oweenee, the faithful, 
Bore a son unto Osseo, 
With the beauty of his mother, 
With the courage of his father. 

" And the boy grew up and prospered, 
And Osseo, to delight him, 
Made him little bows and arrows, 
Opened the great cage of silver, 
And let loose his aunts and uncles, 
All those birds with glossy feathers, 
For his little son to shoot at. 

" Round and round they wheeled and darted, 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 317 

Filled the Evening Star with music, 
With their songs of joy and freedom ; 
Filled the Evening Star with splendor, 
With the fluttering of their plumage ; 
Till the boy, the little hunter, 
Bent his bow and shot an arrow, 
Shot a swift and fatal arrow, 
And a bird, with shining feathers, 
At his feet fell wounded sorely. 

" But, O wondrous transformation ! 
'T was no bird he saAv before him, 
'T was a beautiful young woman, 
With the arrow in her bosom ! 

" When her blood fell on the planet, 
On the sacred Star of Evening, 
Broken was the spell of magic, 
Powerless was the strange enchantment, 
And the youth, the fearless bowman, 
Suddenly felt himself descending, 
Held by unseen hands, but sinking 
Downward through the empty spaces, 
Downward through the clouds and vapors, 
Till he rested on an island, 
On an island, green and grassy, 
Yonder in the Big- Sea- Water. 

" After him he saw descending 
All the birds with shining feathers, 
Fluttering, falling, wafted downward, 
Like the painted leaves of Autumn ; 
And the lodge with poles of silver, 
With its roof like wings of beetles, 
Like the shining shards of beetles, 
By the winds of heaven uplifted, 
Slowly sank upon the island, 
Bringing back the good Osseo, 

I 1 Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. 
" Then the birds, again transfigured, 
Reassumed the shape of mortals, 
Took their shape, but not their stature ; 



,318 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

They remained as Little People, 
Like the pigmies, the Puk-Wudjies, 
And on pleasant nights of Summer, 
When the Evening Star was shining, 
Hand in hand they danced together 
On the island's craggy headlands, 
On the sand-beach low and level. 

" Still their glittering lodge is seen there, 
On the tranquil Summer evenings, 
And upon the shore the fisher 
Sometimes hears their happy voices, 
Sees them dancing in the starlight ! " 

When the story was completed, 
When the wondrous tale was ended, 
Looking round upon his listeners, 
Solemnly Iagoo added : 

" There are great men, I have known such, 
Whom their people understand not, 
Whom they even make a jest of, 
Scoff and jeer at in derision. 
From the story of Osseo 
Let us learn the fate of jesters ! " 

All the wedding guests delighted 
Listened to the marvellous story, 
Listened laughing and applauding, 
And they whispered to each other : 
" Does he mean himself, I wonder ? 
And are we the aunts and uncles ? " 

Then again sang Chibiabos, 
Sang a song of love and longing, 
In those accents sweet and tender, 
In those tones of pensive sadness, 
Sang a maiden's lamentation 
For her lover, her Algonquin. 

" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved, 
When my heart is thinking of him, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" Ah me ! when I parted from him, 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 319 

Round my neck he hung the wampum, 
As a pledge, the snow-white wampum, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" I will go with you, he whispered, 
Ah me ! to your native country ; 
Let me go with you, he whispered, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" Far away, away, I answered, 
Very far away, I answered, 
Ah me ! is my native country, 
my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" When I looked back to behold him, 
Where we parted, to behold him, 
After me he still was gazing, 
my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" By the tree he still was standing, 
By the fallen tree was standing, 
That had dropped into the water, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved, 
When my heart is thinking of him, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " 

Such was Hiawatha's Wedding, 
Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Such the story of Iagoo, 
Such the songs of Chibiabos ; 
Thus the wedding banquet ended, 
And the wedding guests departed, 
Leaving Hiawatha happy 
With the night and Minnehaha. 



XIII. 

BLESSING THE CORN-FIELDS. 

Sing, O Song of HiaAvatha, 

Of the happy days that folio wed, 

In the land of the Ojibways, 

In the pleasant land and peaceful ! 

Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, 

Sing the Blessing of the Corn-fields ! 

Buried was the bloody hatchet, 
Buried was the dreadful war-club, 
Buried were all warlike weapons, 
And the war-cry was forgotten. 
There was peace among the nations ; 
Unmolested roved the hunters, 
Built the birch canoe for sailing, 
Caught the fish in lake and river, 
Shot the deer and trapped the beaver ; 
Unmolested worked the women, 
Made their sugar from the maple, 
Gathered wild rice in the meadows, 
Dressed the skins of deer and beaver. 

All around the happy village 
Stood the maize-fields, green and shining, 
Waved the green plumes of Mondamin, 
Waved his soft and sunny tresses, 
Filling all the land with plenty. 
'T was the women who in Spring-time 
Planted the broad fields and fruitful, 
Buried in the earth Mondamin ; 
'T was the women who in Autumn 
Stripped the yellow husks of harvest. 
Stripped the garments from Mondamin, 
Even as Hiawatha taught them. 

Once, when all the maize was planted, 
(320) 



BLESSING THE CORN-FIELDS. 321 

Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, 
Spake and said to Minnehaha, 
To his wife, the Laughing Water : 
" You shall bless to-night the corn-fields, 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
To protect them from destruction, 
Blast of mildew, blight of insect, 
Wagemin, the thief of corn-fields, 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear ! 

" In the night, when all is silence, 
In the night, when all is darkness, 
When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
Shuts the doors of all the wigwams, 
So that not an ear can hear you, 
So that not an eye can see you, 
Rise up from your bed in silence, 
Lay aside your garments wholly, 
Walk around the fields you planted, 
Round the borders of the corn-fields, 
Covered by your tresses only, 
Robed with darkness as a garment. 

" Thus the fields shall be more fruitful, 
And the passing of your footsteps 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
So that neither blight nor mildew, 
Neither burrowing worm nor insect, 
Shall pass o'er the magic circle ; 
Not the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she, 
Nor the spider, Subbekashe, 
Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena, 
Nor the mighty caterpillar, 
Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin, 
King of all the caterpillars ! " 

On the tree-tops near the corn-fields 
Sat the hungry crows and ravens, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
With his band of black marauders. 
And they laughed at Hiawatha, 
Till the tree-tops shook with laughter, 

VOL. II. 21 



322 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

With their melancholy laughter 

At the words of Hiawatha. 

" Hear him ! " said they ; " hear the Wise Man ! 

Hear the plots of Hiawatha ! " 

When the noiseless night descended 
Broad and dark o'er field and forest, 
When the mournful Wawonaissa, 
Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks, 
And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepali win, 
Shut the doors of all the wigwams, 
From her bed rose Laughing Water, 
Laid aside her garments wholly, 
And with darkness clothed and guarded, 
Unashamed and unaffrighted, 
Walked securely round the corn-fields, 
Drew the sacred, magic circle 
Of her footprints round the corn-fields. 

No one but the Midnight only 
Saw her beauty in the darkness, 
No one but the Wawonaissa 
Heard the panting of her bosom ; 
Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped her 
Closely in his sacred mantle, 
So that none might see her beauty, 
So that none might boast, " I saw her ! " 

On the morrow, as the day dawned, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Gathered all his black marauders, 
Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens, 
Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops, 
And descended, fast and fearless, 
On the fields of Hiawatha, 
On the grave of the Mondamin. 

" We will drag Mondamin," said they, 
" From the grave where he is buried, 
Spite of all the magic circles 
Laughing Water draws around it, 
Spite of all the sacred footprints 
Minnehaha stamps upon it ! " 



BLESSIXG THE CORX-FIELDS. 323 

But the wary Hiawatha 

Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, 

Had o'erheard the scornful laughter 

When they mocked him from the tree-tops. 

" Kaw ! " he said, " my friends the ravens! 

Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens ! 

I will teach you all a lesson 

That shall not be soon forgotten ! " 

He had risen before the daybreak, 
He had spread o'er all the corn-fields 
Snares to catch the black marauders, 
And was lying now in ambush 
In the neighboring grove of pine-trees, 
Waiting for the crows and blackbirds, 
Waiting for the jays and ravens. 

Soon they came with caw and clamor, 
Rush of wings and cry of voices, 
To their work of devastation, 
Settling down upon the corn-fields, 
Delving deep with beak and talon, 
For the body of Mondamin. 
And with all their craft and cunning, 
All their skill in wiles of warfare, 
They perceived no danger near them, 
Till their claws became entangled, 
Till they found themselves imprisoned 
In the snares of Hiawatha. 

From his place of ambush came he, 
Striding terrible among them, 
And so awful was his aspect 
That the bravest quailed with terror. 
Without mercy he destroyed them 
Right and left, by tens and twenties, 
And their wretched, lifeless bodies 
Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows 
Round the consecrated corn-fields, 
As a signal of his vengeance, 
As a warning to marauders. 

Only Kahgahgee, the leader, 



324 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Kahgaligee, the King of Ravens, 
He alone was spared among them 
As a hostage for his people. 
With his prisoner-string he bound him, 
Led him captive to his wigwam, 
Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark 
To the ridge-pole of his wigwam. 

" Kahgahgee, my raven !" said he, 
" You the leader of the robbers, 
You the plotter of this mischief, 
The contriver of this outrage, 
I will keep you, I will hold you, 
As a hostage for your people, 
As a pledge of good behavior ! " 

And he left him, grim and sulky, 
Sitting in the morning sunshine 
On the summit of the wigwam, 
Croaking fiercely his displeasure, 
Flapping his great sable pinions, 
Vainly struggling for his freedom, 
Vainly calling on his people ! 

Summer passed, and Shawondasse 
Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape, 
From the South-land sent his ardors, 
Wafted kisses warm and tender ; 
And the maize-field grew and ripened, 
Till it stood in all the splendor 
Of its garments green and yellow, 
Of its tassels and its plumage, 
And the maize-ears full and shining 
Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure. 

Then Nokomis, the old woman, 
Spake, and said to Minnehaha : 
" 'T is the Moon when leaves are falling ; 
All the wild-rice has been gathered, 
And the maize is ripe and ready ; 
Let us gather in the harvest, 
Let us wrestle with Mondamin, 
Strip him of his plumes and tassels, 
Of his garments green and yellow ! " 



BLESSING THE CORN-FIELDS. 325 

And the merry Laughing Water 
Went rejoicing from the wigwam, 
With Nokomis, old and wrinkled, 
And they called the women round them, 
Called the young men and the maidens, 
To the harvest of the corn-fields, 
To the husking of the maize-ear. 

On the border of the forest, 
Underneath the fragrant pine-trees, 
Sat the old men and the warriors 
Smoking in the pleasant shadow. 
In uninterrupted silence 
Looked they at the gamesome labor 
Of the young men and the women ; 
Listened to their noisy talking, 
To their laughter and their singing, 
Heard them chattering like the magpies. 
Heard them laughing like the blue-jays, 
Heard them singing like the robins. 

And whene'er some lucky maiden 
Found a red ear in the husking, 
Found a maize-ear red as blood is, 
" Nushka ! " cried they all together, 
" Nushka ! you shall have a sweetheart, 
You shall have a handsome husband ! " 
" Ugh ! " the old men all responded 
From their seats beneath the pine-trees. 

And whene'er a youth or maiden 
Found a crooked ear in husking, 
Found a maize-ear in the husking, 
Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen, 
Then they laughed and sang together, 
Crept and limped about the corn-fields, 
Mimicked in their gait and gestures 
Some old man, bent almost double, 
Singing singly or together : 
" Wagemin, the thief of corn-fields ! 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear ! " 

Till the corn-fields rang with laughter, 



326 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Till from Hiawatha's wigwam 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Screamed and quivered in his anger, 
And from all the neighboring tree-tops 
Cawed and croaked the black marauders. 
" Ugh ! " the old men all responded, 
From their seats beneath the pine-trees ! 



XIV. 

PICTURE-WRITING. 

In those days said Hiawatha, 

" Lo ! how all things fade and perish ! 

From the memory of the old men 

Pass away the great traditions, 

The achievements of the warriors, 

The adventures of the hunters, 

All the wisdom of the Medas, 

All the craft of the Wabenos, 

All the marvellous dreams and visions 

Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets ! 

" Great men die and are forgotten, 
Wise men speak ; their words of wisdom 
Perish in the ears that hear them, 
Do not reach the generations 
That, as yet unborn, are waiting 
In the great, mysterious darkness 
Of the speechless days that shall be ! 

" On the grave-posts of our fathers 
Are no signs, no figures painted ; 
Who are in those graves we know not, 
Only know they are our fathers. 
Of what kith they are and kindred, 
From what old, ancestral Totem, 
Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, 
They descended, this we know not, 
Only know they are our fathers. 

' ; Face to face we speak together, 
But we cannot speak when absent, 
Cannot send our voices from us 



328 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

To the friends that dwell afar off ; 
Cannot send a secret message, 
But the bearer learns our secret, 
May pervert it, may betray it, 
May reveal it unto others." 

Thus said Hiawatha, walking 
In the solitary forest, 
Pondering, musing in the forest, 
On the welfare of his people. 

From his pouch he took his colors, 
Took his paints of different colors, 
On the smooth bark of a birch-tree 
Painted many shapes and figures, 
Wonderful and mystic figures, 
And each figure had a meaning, 
Each some word or thought suggested. 

Gitche Manito the Mighty, 
/He, the Master of Life, was painted 
/ As an egg, with points projecting 
I To the four winds of the heavens. 
\ Everywhere is the Great Spirit, 
^ Was the meaning of this symbol. ^ 

Mitche Manito the Mighty, 
He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, 
As a serpent was depicted, 
As Kenabeek, the great serpent. 
Very crafty, very cunning, 
Is the creeping Spirit of Evil, 
Was the meaning of this symbol. 

Life and Death he drew as circles, 
Life was white, but Death was darkened ; 
Sun and moon and stars he painted, 
Man and beast, and fish and reptile, 
Forests, mountains, lakes, and rivers. 

For the earth he drew a straight line, 
For the sky a bow above it ; 
White the space between for day-time, 
Filled with little stars for night-time ; 
On the left a point for sunrise, 



PICTURE-WRITING. 

On the right a point for sunset, 
On the top a point for noon-tide, 
And for rain and cloudy weather 
Waving lines descending from it. 

Footprints pointing towards a wigwam 
Were a sign of invitation, 
Were a sign of guests assembling ; 
Bloody hands with palms uplifted 
Were a symbol of destruction, 
Were a hostile sign and symbol. 

All these things did Hiawatha 
Show unto his wondering people, 
And interpreted their meaning, 
And he said : " Behold, your grave-posts 
Have no mark, no sign, nor symbol. 
Go and paint them all with figures ; 
Each one with its household symbol, 
With its own ancestral Totem ; 
So that those who follow after 
May distinguish them and know them." 

And they painted on the grave-posts 
Of the graves yet unforgotten, 
Each his own ancestral Totem, 
Each the symbol of his household ; 
Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, 
Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver, 
Each inverted as a token 
That the owner was departed, 
That the chief who bore the symbol 
Lay beneath in dust and ashes. 

And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, 
The Wabenos, the Magicians, 
And the Medicine-men, the Medas, 
Painted upon bark and deer-skin 
Figures for the songs they chanted, 
For each song a separate symbol, 
Figures mystical and awful, 
Figures strange and brightly colored : 
And each figure had its meaning, 
Each some magic song suggested. 



330 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Flashing light through all the heaven ; 
The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek, 
With his bloody crest erected, 
Creeping, looking into heaven ; 
In the sky. the sun, that listens, 
And the moon eclipsed and dying ; 
Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk, 
And the cormorant, bird of magic ; 
Headless men, that walk the heavens, 
Bodies lying pierced with arrows, 
Bloody hands of death uplifted, 
Flags on graves, and great war-captains 
Grasping both the earth and heaven ! 

Such as these the shapes they painted 
On the birch-bark and the deer-skin ; 
Songs of war and songs of hunting, 
Songs of medicine and of magic, 
All were written in these figures, 
For each figure had its meaning, 
Each its separate song recorded. 

Nor forgotten was the Love- Song, 
The most Subtle of all medicines, 
The most potent spell of magic, 
Dangerous more than war or hunting ! 
Thus the Love- Song was recorded, 
Symbol and interpretation. 

First a human figure standing, 
Painted in the brightest scarlet ; 
'T is the lover, the musician, 
And the meaning is, " My painting 
Makes me powerful over others." 

Then the figure seated, singing, 
Playing on a drum of magic, 
And the interpretation, " Listen ! 
'T is my voice you hear, my singing ! " 

Then the same red figure seated 
In the shelter of a wigwam, 
And the meaning of the symbol, 



PICTURE-WRITING. 331 

" I will come and sit beside you 
In the mystery of my passion ! " 

Then two figures, man and woman, 
Standing hand in hand together, 
With their hands so clasped together 
That they seem in one united, 
And the words thus represented 
Are, u I see your heart within you, 
And your cheeks are red with blushes ! " 

Next the maiden on an island, 
In the centre of an island ; 
And the song this shape suggested 
Was, " Though you were at a distance, 
Were upon some far-olf island, 
Such the spell I cast upon you, 
Such the magic power of passion, 
I could straightway draw you to me ! " 

Then the figure of the maiden 
Sleeping, and the lover near her, 
Whispering to her in her slumbers, 
Saying, " Though you were far from me 
In the land of Sleep and Silence, 
Still the voice of love would reach you ! " 

And the last of all the figures 
Was a heart within a circle, 
Drawn within a magic circle ; 
And the image had this meaning : 
" Naked lies your heart before me, 
To your naked heart I whisper ! " 

Thus it was that Hiawatha, 
In his wisdom, taught the people 
All the mysteries of painting, 
All the art of Picture- Writing, 
On the smooth bark of the birch-tree, 
On the white skin of the reindeer, 
On the grave-posts of the village. 



XV. 

HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION. 

In those days the Evil Spirits, 
All the Manitos of mischief, 
Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom, 
And his love for Chibiabos, 
Jealous of their faithful friendship, 
And their noble words and actions, 
Made at length a league against them, 
To molest them and destroy them. 

Hiawatha, wise and wary, 
Often said to Chibiabos, 
" O my brother ! do not leave me, 
Lest the Evil Spirits harm you ! " 
Chibiabos, young and heedless, 
Laughing shook his coal-black tresses, 
Answered ever sweet and childlike, 
" Do not fear for me, O brother ! 
Harm and evil come not near me ! " 

Once when Peboan, the Winter, 
Roofed with ice the Big- Sea- Water, 
When the snoAv-flakes, whirling downward, 
Hissed among the withered oak-leaves, 
Changed the pine-trees into wigwams, 
Covered all the earth with silence, — 
Armed with arrows, shod with snow-shoes, 
Heeding not his brother's warning, 
Fearing not the Evil Spirits, 
Forth to hunt the deer with antlers 
All alone went Chibiabos. 

Right across the Big-Sea- Water 
Sprang with speed the deer before him. 
W T ith the wind and snow he followed, 
O'er the treacherous ice he followed, 
(332) 



hiawatha's lamentation. 333 

Wild with all the fierce commotion 
And the rapture of the hunting. 

But beneath, the Evil Spirits 
Lay in ambush, waiting for him, 
Broke the treacherous ice beneath him, 
Dragged him downward to the bottom, 
Buried in the sand his body. 
Unktahee, the god of water, 
He the god of the Dacotahs, 
Drowned him in the deep abysses 
Of the lake of Gitche Gumee. 

From the headlands Hiawatha 
Sent forth such a wail of anguish,. 
Such a fearful lamentation, 
That the bison paused to listen, 
And the wolves howled from the prairies, 
And the thunder in the distance 
Starting answered " Baim-wawa ! " 

Then his face with black he painted, 
With his robe his head he covered, 
In his wigwam sat lamenting, 
Seven long weeks he sat lamenting, 
Uttering still this moan of sorrow : — 

" He is dead, the sweet musician ! 
He the sweetest of all singers ! 
He has gone from us forever, 
He has moved a little nearer 
To the Master of all music, 
To the Master of all singing ! 
O my brother, Chibiabos ! " 

And the melancholy fir-trees 
Waved their dark green fans above him, 
Waved their purple cones above him, 
Sighing with him to console him, 
Mingling with his lamentation 
Their complaining, their lamenting. 

Came the Spring, and all the forest 
Looked in vain for Chibiabos ; 
Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, 
Sijzhed the rushes in the meadow. 



334 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

From the tree-tops sang the blue-bird, 
Sang the blue-bird, the Owaissa, 
" Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 
He is dead, the sweet musician ! " 

From the wigwam sang the robin, 
Sang the robin, the Opeehee, 
" Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 
He is dead, the sweetest singer ! " 

And at night through all the forest 
Went the whippoorwill complaining, 
Wailing went the Wawonaissa, 
" Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 
He is dead, the sweet musician ! 
He the sweetest of all singers ! " 

Then the medicine-men, the Medas, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the Jossakeeds, the prophets, 
Came to visit Hiawatha ; 
Built a Sacred Lodge beside him, 
To appease him, to console him, 
Walked in silent, grave procession, 
Bearing each a pouch of healing, 
Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter, 
Filled with magic roots and simples, 
Filled with very potent medicines. 

When he heard their steps approaching, 
Hiawatha ceased lamenting, 
Called no more on Chibiabos ; 
Naught he questioned, naught he answered, 
But his mournful head uncovered, 
From his face the mourning colors 
Washed he slowly and in silence, 
Slowly and in silence followed 
Onward to the Sacred Wigwam. 

There a magic drink they gave him, 
Made of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint, 
And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow, 
Roots of power, and herbs of healing ; 
Beat their drums, and shook their rattles ; 



Hiawatha's lamentation. 335 

Chanted singly and in chorus, 
Mystic songs like these, they chanted. 

" I myself, myself! behold me ! 
'T is the great Gray Eagle talking ; 
Come, ye white crows, come and hear him ! 
The loud-speaking thunder helps me ; 
All the unseen spirits help me ; 
I can hear their voices calling, 
All around the sky I hear them ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother, 
I can heal you, Hiawatha ! " 

" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, 
" Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. 

" Friends of mine are all the serpents ! 
Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk ! 
Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him ; 
I can shoot your heart and kill it ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother, 
I can heal you, Hiawatha ! " 

" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus. 
" Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. 

" I myself, myself! the prophet ! 
When I speak the wigwam trembles, 
Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror, 
Hands unseen begin- to shake it ! 
When I walk, the sky I tread on 
Bends and makes a noise beneath me ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother ! 
Rise and speak, O Hiawatha ! " 

" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, 
" Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. 

Then they shook their medicine-pouches 
O'er the head of Hiawatha, 
Danced their medicine-dance around him ; 
And upstarting wild and haggard, 
Like a man from dreams awakened, 
He was healed of all his madness. 
As the clouds are swept from heaven, 
Straightway from his brain departed 



336 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

All his moody melancholy ; 
As the ice is swept from rivers, 
Straightway from his heart* departed 
All his sorrow and affliction. 

Then they summoned Chibiabos 
From his grave beneath the waters, 
From the sands of Gitche Gumee 
Summoned Hiawatha's brother. 
And so mighty was the magic 
Of that cry and invocation, 
That he heard it as he lay there 
Underneath the Big-Sea-Water ; 
From the sand he rose and listened, 
Heard the music and the singing, 
Came, obedient to the summons, 
To the doorway of the wigwam, 
But to enter they forbade him. 

Through a chink a coal they gave him, 
Through the door a burning fire-brand ; 
Ruler in the Land of Spirits, 
Ruler o'er the dead, they made him, 
Telling him a fire to kindle 
For all those that died thereafter, 
Camp-fires for their night encampments 
On their solitary journey 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter. 

From the village of his childhood, 
From the homes of those who knew him, 
Passing silent through the forest, 
Like a smoke-wreath wafted sideways, 
Slowly vanished Chibiabos ! 
Where he passed, the branches moved not, 
Where he trod, the grasses bent not, 
And the fallen leaves of last year 
Made no sound beneath his footsteps. 

Four whole days he journeyed onward 
Down the pathway of the*dead men ; 
On the dead man's strawberry feasted, 



HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION. 337 

Crossed the melancholy river, 
On the swinging log he crossed it, 
Came unto the Lake of Silver, 
In the Stone Canoe was carried 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the land of ghosts and shadows. 

On that journey, moving slowly, 
Many weary spirits saw he, 
Panting under heavy burdens, 
Laden with war-clubs, bows and arrows, 
Robes of fur, and pots and kettles, 
And with food that friends had given 
For that solitary journey. 

" Ah ! why do the living," said they, 
" Lay such heavy burdens on us ! 
Better were it to go naked, 
Better were it to go fasting, 
Than to bear such heavy burdens 
On our long and weary journey ! " 

Forth then issued Hiawatha, 
Wandered eastward, wandered westward, 
Teaching men the use of simples 
And the antidotes for poisons, 
And the cure of all diseases. 
Thus was first made known to mortals 
All the mystery of Medamin, 
All the sacred art of healing. 



VOL. II. 22 



XVI. 

PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 

You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis 
He, the handsome Yenadizze, 
Whom the people called the Storm Fool, 
Vexed the village with disturbance ; 
You shall hear of all his mischief, 
And his flight from Hiawatha, 
And his wondrous transmigrations, 
And the end of his adventures. 

On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
On the dunes of Nagow. Wudjoo, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water 
Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
It was he who in his frenzy 
Whirled these drifting sands together, 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, 
When, among the guests assembled, 
He so merrily and madly 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding, 
Danced the Beggar's Dance to please them. 

Now, in search of new adventures, 
From his lodge went Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Came with speed into the village, 
Found the young men all assembled 
In the lodge of old Iagoo, 
Listening to his monstrous stories, 
To his wonderful adventures. 

He was telling them the story 
Of Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker, 
How he made a hole in heaven, 
How he climbed up into heaven, 
And let out the Summer-weather, 
The perpetual, pleasant Summer ; 
(338) 



PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 339 

How the Otter first essayed it ; 
How the Beaver, Lynx, and Badger 
Tried in turn the great achievement, 
From the summit of the mountain 
Smote their fists against the heavens, 
Smote against the sky their foreheads, 
Cracked the sky, but could not break it ; 
How the Wolverine, uprising, 
Made him ready for the encounter, 
Bent his knees down, like a squirrel, 
Drew his arms back, like a cricket. 

" Once he leaped," said old Iagoo, 
" Once he leaped, and lo ! above him 
Bent the sky, as ice in rivers 
When the waters rise beneath it ; 
Twice he leaped, and lo ! above him 
Cracked the sky, as ice in rivers 
When the freshet is at highest ! 
Thrice he leaped, and lo ! above him 
Broke the shattered sky asunder, 
And he disappeared within it, 
And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel, 
With a bound went in behind him ! " 

" Hark you ! " shouted Pau-Puk-Keewis 
As he entered at the doorway ; 
" I am tired of all this talking, 
Tired of old Iagoo's stories, 
Tired of Hiawatha's wisdom. 
Here is something to amuse you, 
Better than this endless talking." 

Then from out his pouch of wolf-skin 
Forth he drew, with solemn manner, 
All the game of Bowl and Counters, 
Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. 
White on one side were they painted, 
And vermilion on the other ; 
Two Kenabeeks or great serpents, 
Two Ininewug or wedge-men, 
One great war-club, Pugamaugun, 



340 THE SONG OP HIAWATHA. 

And one slender fish, the Keego, 

Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks, 

And three Sheshebwug or ducklings. 

All were made of bone and painted, 

All except the Ozawabeeks ; 

These were brass, on one side burnished, 

And were black upon the other. 

In a wooden bowl he placed them, 
Shook and jostled them together, 
Threw them on the ground before him, 
Thus exclaiming and explaining : 
" Red side up are all the pieces, 
And one great Kenabeek standing 
On the bright side of a brass piece, 
On a burnished Ozawabeek ; 
Thirteen tens and eight are counted." 

Then again he shook the pieces, 
Shook and jostled them together, 
Threw them on the ground before him, 
Still exclaiming and explaining : 
" White are both the great Kenabeeks, 
White the Ininewug, the wedge-men, 
Red are all the other pieces ; 
Five tens and an eight are counted." 

Thus he taught the game of hazard, 
Thus displayed it and explained it, 
Running through its various chances, 
Various changes, various meanings : 
Twenty curious eyes stared at him. 
Full of eagerness stared at him. 

" Many games," said old Iagoo, 
" Many games of skill and hazard 
Have I seen in different nations, 
Have I played in different countries. 
He who plays with old Iagoo 
Must have very nimble fingers ; 
Though you think yourself so skilful 
I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
I can even give you lessons 
In your game of Bowl and Counters ! " 



PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 341 

So they sat and played together, 
All the old men and the young men, 
Played for dresses, weapons, wampum, 
Played till midnight, played till morning, 
Played until the Yenadizze, 
Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Of their treasures had despoiled them, 
Of the best of all their dresses, 
Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, 
Belts of wampum, crests of feathers, 
Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches. 
Twenty eyes glared wildly at him, 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at him. 

Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
" In my wigwam I am lonely, 
In my wanderings and adventures 
I have need of a companion, 
Fain would have a Meshinauwa, 
An attendant and pipe-bearer. 
I will venture all these winnings, 
All these garments heaped about me, 
All this wampum, all these feathers, 
On a single throw will venture 
All against the young man yonder ! " 
'T was a youth of sixteen summers, 
'T was a nephew of Iagoo ; 
Face-in-a-Mist, the people called him. 

As the fire burns in a pipe-head 
Dusky red beneath the ashes, 
So beneath his shaggy eyebrows 
Glowed the eyes of old Iagoo. 
" Ugh ! " he answered very fiercely ; 
" Ugh ! " they answered all and each one. 

Seized the wooden bowl the old man, 
Closely in his bony fingers 
Clutched the fatal bowl, Onagon, 
Shook it fiercely and with fury, 
Made the pieces ring together 
As he threw them down before him. 



342 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Red were both the great Kenabeeks, 
Red the Ininewug, the wedge-men, 
Red the Sheshebwug, the ducklings, 
Black the four brass Ozawabeeks, 
White alone the fish, the Keego ; 
Only five the pieces counted ! 

Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Shook the bowl and threw the pieces ; 
Lightly in the air he tossed them, 
And they fell about him scattered ; 
Dark and bright the Ozawabeeks, 
Red and white the other pieces, 
And upright among the others 
One Ininewug was standing, 
Even as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Stood alone among the players, 
Saying, " Five tens ! mine the game is ! " 

Twenty eyes glared at him fiercely, 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at him, 
As he turned and left the wigwam, 
Followed by his Meshinauwa, 
By the nephew of Iagoo, 
By the tall and graceful stripling, 
Bearing in his arms the winnings, 
Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, 
Belts of wampum, pipes and weapons, 

" Carry them," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Pointing with his fan of feathers, 
" To my wigwam far to eastward, 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo !" 

Hot and red with smoke and gambling 
Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
As he came forth to the freshness 
Of the pleasant Summer morning. 
All the birds were singing gayly, 
All the streamlets flowing swiftly, 
And the heart of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Sang with pleasure as the birds sing, 
Beat with triumph like the streamlets, 



PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 343 

As he wandered through the village, 

In the early gray of morning, 

With his fan of turkey-feathers, 

With his plumes and tufts of swan's down, 

Till he reached the farthest wigwam, 

Reached the lodge of Hiawatha. 

Silent was it and deserted ; 
No one met him at the doorway, 
No one came to bid him welcome ; 
But the birds were singing round it, 
In and out and round the doorway, 
Hopping, singing, fluttering, feeding, 
And aloft upon the ridge-pole 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Sat with fiery eyes, and, screaming, 
Flapped his wings at Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

" All are gone ! the lodge is empty ! " 
Thus it was spake Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
In his heart resolving mischief ; 
" Gone is wary Hiawatha, 
Gone the silly Laughing Water, 
Gone Nokomis, the old woman, 
And the lodge is left unguarded ! " 

By the neck he seized the raven, 
Whirled it round him like a rattle, 
Like a medicine-pouch he shook it, 
Strangled Kahgahgee, the raven, 
From the ridge-pole of the wigwam 
Left its lifeless body hanging, 
As an insult to its master, 
As a taunt to Hiawatha. 

With a stealthy step he entered, 
Round the lodge in wild disorder 
Threw the household things about him, 
Piled together in confusion 
Bowls of wood and earthen kettles, 
Robes of buffalo and beaver, 
Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine, 



344 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

As an insult to Nokoinis, 
As a taunt to Minnehaha. 

Then departed Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Whistling, singing through the forest, 
Whistling gayly to the squirrels, 
Who from hollow boughs above him 
Dropped their acorn-shells upon him, 
Singing gayly to the wood-birds, 
Who from out the leafy darkness 
Answered with a song as merry. 

Then he climbed the rocky headlands, 
Looking o'er the Gitche Gumee, 
Perched himself upon their summit, 
Waiting full of mirth and mischief 
The return of Hiawatha. 

Stretched upon his back he lay there ; 
Far below him plashed the waters, 
Plashed and washed the dreamy waters ; 
Far above him swam the heavens, 
Swam the dizzy, dreamy heavens ; 
Round him hovered, fluttered, rustled, 
Hiawatha's mountain chickens, 
Flock-wise swept and wheeled about him, 
Almost brushed him with their pinions. 

And he killed them as he lay there, 
Slaughtered them by tens and twenties, 
Threw their bodies down the headland, 
Threw them on the beach below him, 
Till at length Kayoshk, the sea-gull, 
Perched upon a crag above them, 
Shouted : " It is Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 
He is slaying us by hundreds ! 
Send a message to our brother, 
Tidings send to Hiawatha ! " 



XVII. 

THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 

Full of wrath was Hiawatha 
When he came into the village, 
Found the people in confusion, 
Heard of all the misdemeanors, 
All the malice and the mischief, 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

Hard his breath came through his nostrils, 
Through his teeth he buzzed and muttered 
Words of anger and resentment, 
Hot and humming, like a hornet. 
" I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Slay this mischief-maker ! " said he. 
" Not so long and wide the world is, 
Not so rude and rough the way is, 
That my wrath shall not attain him. 
That my vengeance shall not reach him ! " 

Then in swift pursuit departed 
Hiawatha and the hunters 
On the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Through the forest, where he passed it, 
To the headlands where he rested ; 
But they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Only in the trampled grasses, 
In the whortleberry-bushes, 
Found the couch where he had rested, 
Found the impress of his body. 

From the lowlands far beneath them, 
From the Muskoday, the meadow, 
Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward, 
Made a gesture of defiance, 
Made a gesture of derision ; 
And aloud cried Hiawatha, 
T3451 



346 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

From the summit of the mountain : 
" Not so long and wide the world is, 
Not so rude and rough the way is, 
But my wrath shall overtake you, 
And my vengeance shall attain you !" 

Over rock and over river, 
Thorough bush, and brake, and forest, 
Kan the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 
Like an antelope he bounded, 
Till he came unto a streamlet 
In the middle of the forest, 
To a streamlet still and tranquil, 
That had overflowed its margin, 
To a dam made by the beavers, 
To a pond of quiet water, 
Where knee-deep the trees were standing, 
Where the water-lilies floated, 
Where the rushes waved and whispered. 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
On the dam of trunks and branches, 
Through whose chinks the water spouted, 
O'er whose summit flowed the streamlet, 
From the bottom rose a beaver, 
Looked with two great eyes of wonder, 
Eyes that seemed to ask a question, 
At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, 
Flowed the bright and silvery water, 
And he spake unto the beaver, 
With a smile he spake in this wise : 

" O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver, 
Cool and pleasant is the water ; 
Let me dive into the water, 
Let me rest there in your lodges ; 
Change me, too, into a beaver ! " 

Cautiously replied the beaver. 
With reserve he thus made answer : 
" Let me first consult the others, 



THE HUNTING OF PAU-TUK-KEEWIS. 347 

Let me ask the other beavers." 
Down he sank into the water, 
Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks, 
Down among the leaves and branches, 
Brown and matted at the bottom. 

On the dam stood Pan-Puk-Keewis, 
O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, 
Spouted through the chinks below him, 
Dashed upon the stones beneath him. 
Spread serene and calm before him, 
And the sunshine and the shadows 
Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, 
Fell in little shining patches, 
Through the waving, rustling branches. 

From the bottom rose the beavers, 
Silently above the surface 
Rose one head and then another, 
Till the pond seemed full of beavers, 
Full of black and shining faces. 

To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Spake entreating, said in this wise : 
" Very pleasant is your dwelling, 
O my friends ! and safe from danger ; 
Can you not with all your cunning, 
All your wisdom and contrivance, 
Change me, too, into a beaver ? " 

" Yes ! " replied Ahmeek, the beaver, 
He the King of all the beavers, 
" Let yourself slide down among us, 
Down into the tranquil water." 

Down into the pond among them 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 
Black became his shirt of deer-skin, 
Black his moccasins and leggings, 
In a broad black tail behind him 
Spread his fox-tails and his fringes ; 
He was changed into a beaver. 

" Make me large," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
" Make me large and make me larger, 



348 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Larger than the other beavers." 
" Yes," the beaver chief responded, 
" When our lodge below you enter, 
In our wigwam we will make you 
Ten times larger than the others." 

Thus into the clear, brown water 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 
Pound the bottom covered over 
With the trunks of trees and branches, 
Hoards of food against the winter, 
Piles and heaps against the famine, 
Found the lodge with arching doorway, 
Leading into spacious chambers. 

Here they made him large and larger 
Made him largest of the beavers, 
Ten times larger than the others. 
" You shall be our ruler," said they ; 
" Chief and king of all the beavers." 

But not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Sat in state among the beavers, 
When there came a voice of warning 
Prom the watchman at his station 
In the water-flags and lilies, 
Saying, " Here is Hiawatha ! 
Hiawatha with his hunters ! " 

Then they heard a cry above them, 
Heard a shouting and a tramping, 
Heard a crashing and a rushing, 
And the water round and o'er them 
Sank and sucked away in eddies, 
And they knew their dam was broken. 

On the lodge's roof the hunters 
Leaped, and broke it all asunder; 
Streamed the sunshine through the crevice, 
Sprang the beavers through the doorway, 
Hid themselves in deeper water, 
In the channel of the streamlet ; 
But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Could not pass beneath the doorway ; 



THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 349 

He was puffed with pride and feeding, 
He was swollen like a bladder. 

Through the roof looked Hiawatha, 
Cried aloud, " O Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 
Vain are all your craft and cunning, 
Vain your manifold disguises ! 
Well I know you, Pau-Puk-Keewis ! " 

With their clubs they beat and bruised him, 
Beat to death poor Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Pounded him as maize is pounded, 
Till his skull was crushed to pieces. 
Six tall hunters, lithe and limber, 
Bore him home on poles and branches, 
Bore the body of the beaver ; 
But the ghost, the Jeebi in him, 
Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Still lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

And it fluttered, strove, and struggled, 
Waving hither, waving thither, 
As the curtains of a wigwam 
Struggle with their thongs of deer-skin, 
When the wintry wind is blowing; 
Till it drew itself together, 
Till it rose up from the body, 
Till it took the form and features 

Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Vanishing into the forest. 
But the wary Hiawatha 

Saw the figure ere it vanished, 

Saw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis 

Glide into the soft blue shadow 

Of the pine-trees of the forest ; 

Toward the squares of white beyond it, 

Toward an opening in the forest, 

Like a wind it rushed and panted, 

Bending all the boughs before it, 

And behind it, as the rain comes, 

Came the steps of Hiawatha. 
To a lake with many islands 



350 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Came the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Where among the water-lilies 
Pishnekuh, the brant, were sailing ; 
Through the tufts of rushes floating, 
Steering through the reedy islands. 
Now their broad black beaks they lifted, 
Now they plunged beneath the water, 
Now they darkened in the shadow, 
Now they brightened in the sunshine. 

" Pishnekuh ! " cried Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
" Pishnekuh ! my brothers ! " said he, 
" Change me to a brant with plumage, 
With a shining neck and feathers, 
Make me large, and make me larger, 
Ten times larger than the others." 

Straightway to a brant they changed him, 
With two huge and dusky pinions, 
With a bosom smooth and rounded, 
With a bill like two great paddles, 
Made him larger than the others, 
Ten times larger than the largest, 
Just as, shouting from the forest, 
On the shore stood Hiawatha. 

Up they rose with cry and clamor, 
With a whirr and beat of pinions, 
Rose up from the reedy islands, 
From the water-flags and lilies. 
And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
" In your flying, look not downward, 
Take good heed, and look not downward, 
Lest some strange mischance should happen, 
Lest some great mishap befall you ! " 

Fast and far they fled to northward, 
Fast and far through mist and sunshine, 
Fed among the moors and fen-lands, 
Slept among the reeds and rushes. 

On the morrow as they journeyed, 
Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind, 
Watted onward by the South-wind, 



THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 351 



Rose a sound of human voices, 
Rose a clamor from beneath them, 
From the lodges of a village, 
From the people miles beneath them. 

For the people of the village 
Saw the flock of brant with wonder, 
Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Flapping far up in the ether, 
Broader than two doorway curtains. 

Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting, 
Knew the voice of Hiawatha, 
Knew the outcry of Iagoo, 
And, forgetful of the warning, 
Drew his neck in, and looked downward, 
And the wind that blew behind him 
Caught his mighty fan of feathers, 
Sent him wheeling, whirling downward ! 

All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Struggle to regain his balance ! 
Whirling round and round and downward, 
He beheld in turn the village 
And in turn the flock above him, 
Saw the village coming nearer, 
And the flock receding farther, 
Heard the voices growing louder, 
Heard the shouting and the laughter ; 
Saw no more the flock above him, 
Only saw the earth beneath him ; 
Dead out of the empty heaven, 
Dead among the shouting people, 
With a heavy sound and sullen, 
Fell the brant with broken pinions. 

But his soul, his ghost, his shadow, 
Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Took again the form and features 
Of the handsome Yenadizze, 
And again went rushing onward, 
Followed fast by Hiawatha, 



352 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Crying : " Not so wide the world is, 
Not so long and rough the way is, 
But my wrath shall overtake you, 
But rny vengeance shall attain you ! " 

And so near he came, so near him, 
That his hand was stretched to seize him, 
His right hand to seize and hold him, 
When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Whirled and spun about in circles, 
Fanned the air into a whirlwind, 
Danced the dust and leaves about him, 
And amid the whirling eddies 
Sprang into a hollow oak-tree, 
Changed himself into a serpent, 
Gliding out through root and rubbish. 

With his right hand Hiawatha 
Smote amain the hollow oak-tree, 
Rent it into shreds and splinters, 
Left it lying there in fragments. 
But in vain ; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Once again in human figure, 
Full in sight ran on before him, 
Sped away in gust and whirlwind, 
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
Westward by the Big-Sea- Water, 
Came unto the rocky headlands, 
To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone, 
Looking over lake and landscape. 

And the Old Man of the Mountain, 
He the Manito of Mountains, 
Opened wide his rocky doorways, 
Opened wide his deep abysses, 
Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter 
In his caverns dark and dreary, 
Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome 
To his gloomy lodge of sandstone. 

There without stood Hiawatha, 
Found the doorways closed against him, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 



THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 353 

Smote great caverns in the sandstone, 
Cried aloud in tones of thunder, 
" Open ! I am Hiawatha ! " 
But the Old Man of the Mountain 
Opened not, and made no answer 
From the silent crags of sandstone, 
From the gloomy rock abysses. 

Then he raised his hands to heaven, 
Called imploring on the tempest, 
Called Waywassimo, the lightning, 
And the thunder, Annemeekee ; 
And they came with night and darkness, 
Sweeping down the Big-Sea- Water 
From the distant Thunder Mountains ; 
And the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Heard the footsteps of the thunder, 
Saw the red eyes of the lightning, 
Was afraid, and crouched and trembled. 

Then Waywassimo, the lightning, 
Smote the doorways of the caverns, 
With his war-club smote the doorways, 
Smote the jutting crags of sandstone, 
And the thunder, Annemeekee, 
Shouted down into the caverns, 
Saying, " Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis ! " 
And the crags fell, and beneath them 
Dead among the rocky ruins 
Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Lay the handsome Yenadizze, 
Slain in his own human figure. 

Ended were his wild adventures, 
Ended were his tricks and gambols, 
Ended all his craft and cunning, 
Ended all his mischief-making, 
All his gambling and his dancing, 
AH his wooing of the maidens. 

Then the noble Hiawatha 
Took his soul, his ghost, his shadow, 
Spake and said : " O Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 

VOL. II. 23 



354 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Never more in human figure 

Shall you search for new adventures ; 

Never more with jest and laughter 

Dance the dust and leaves in whirlwinds ; 

But above there in the heavens 

You shall soar and sail in circles ; 

I will change you to an eagle, 

To Keneu, the great war-eagle, 

Chief of all the fowls with feathers, 

Chief of Hiawatha's chickens." 

And the name of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Lingers still among the people, 
Lingers still among the singers, 
And among the story-tellers ; 
And in Winter, when the snow-flakes 
Whirl in eddies round the lodges, 
When the wind in gusty tumult 
O'er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles, 
" There," they cry, " comes Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 
He is dancing through the village, 
He is gathering in his harvest ! " 



XVIII. 

THE DEATH OF KWASIND. 

Far and wide among the nations 
Spread the name and fame of Kwasind ; 
No man dared to strive with Kwasind, 
No man could compete with Kwasind. 
But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, 
They the envious Little People, 
They the fairies and the pigmies, 
Plotted and conspired against him. 

" If this hateful Kwasind," said they. 
" If this great, outrageous fellow 
Goes on thus a little longer, 
Tearing everything he touches, 
Rending everything to pieces, 
Filling all the world with wonder, 
What becomes of the Puk-Wudjies ? 
W 7 ho will care for the Puk-AVudjies ? 
He will tread us down like mushrooms, 
Drive us all into the water, 
Give our bodies to be eaten 
By the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs, 
By the Spirits of the water ! " 

So the angry Little People 
All conspired against the Strong Man, 
All conspired to murder Kwasind, 
Yes, to rid the world of Kwasind, 
The audacious, overbearing, 
Heartless, haughty, dangerous Kwasind ! 

Now this wondrous strength of Kwasind 
In his crown alone was seated ; 
Jn his crown too was his weakness ; 
There alone could he be wounded, 
(365) 



356 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Nowhere else could weapon pierce him, 
Nowhere else could weapon harm him. 

Even there the only weapon 
That could wound him, that could slay him, 
Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, 
Was the blue cone of the fir-tree. 
This was Kwasind's fatal secret, 
Known to no man among mortals ; 
But the cunning Little People, 
The Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret, 
Knew the only way to kill him. 

So they gathered cones together, 
Gathered seed-cones of the pine-tree, 
Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, 
In the woods by Taquamenaw, 
Brought them to the river's margin, 
Heaped them in great piles together, 
Where the red rocks from the margin 
Jutting overhang the river. 
There they lay in wait for Kwasind, 
The malicious Little People. 

'T was an afternoon in Summer ; 
Very hot and still the air was, 
Very smooth the gliding river, 
Motionless the sleeping shadows : 
Insects glistened in the sunshine, 
Insects skated on the water, 
Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, 
With a far-resounding war-cry. 

Down the river came the Strong Man, 
In his birch canoe came Kwasind, 
Floating slowly down the current 
Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, 
Very languid with the weather, 
Very sleepy with the silence. 

From the overhanging branches, 
From the tassels of the birch-trees, 
Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended ; 
By his airy hosts surrounded, 



THE DEATH OF KWASIND. 357 

His invisible attendants, 
Came the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin ; 
Like the burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she, 
Like a dragon-fly, he hovered 
O'er the drowsy head of Kwasind. 

To his ear there came a murmur 
As of waves upon a sea-shore, 
As of far-off tumbling waters, 
As of winds among the pine-trees ; 
And he felt upon his forehead 
Blows of little airy war-clubs, 
Wielded by the slumbrous legions 
Of the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
As of some one breathing on him. 

At the first blow of their war-clubs 
Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind ; 
At the second blow they smote him, 
Motionless his paddle rested ; 
At the third, before his vision 
Reeled the landscape into darkness, 
Very sound asleep was Kwasind. 

So he floated down the river. 
Like a blind man seated upright, 
Floated down the Taquamenaw, 
Underneath the trembling birch-trees, 
Underneath the wooded headlands, 
Underneath the war encampment 
Of the pigmies, the Puk-Wudjies. 

There they stood, all armed and waiting, 
Hurled the pine-cones down upon him, 
Struck him on his brawny shoulders, 
On his crown defenceless struck him. 
" Death to Kwasind ! " was the sudden 
War-cry of the Little People. 

And he sideways swayed and tumbled, 
Sideways fell into the river, 
Plunged beneath the sluggish water 
Headlong, as an otter plunges ; 
And the birch-canoe, abandoned, 



358 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Drifted empty down the river, 
Bottom upward swerved and drifted : 
Nothing more was seen of Kwasind. 

But the memory of the Strong Man 
Lingered long among the people, 
And whenever through the forest 
Raged and roared the wintry tempest, 
And the branches, tossed and troubled, 
Creaked and groaned and split asunder, 
" Kwasind ! " cried they ; " that is Kwasind ! 
He is gathering in his fire- wood ! " 



XIX. 

THE GHOSTS. 

Never stoops the soaring vulture 

On his quarry in the desert, 

On the sick or wounded bison, 

But another vulture, watching 

From his high aerial look-out, 

Sees the downward plunge, and follows ; 

And a third pursues the second, 

Coming from the invisible ether, 

First a speck, and then a vulture, 

Till the air is dark with pinions. 

So disasters come not singly ; 
But as if they watched and waited, 
Scanning one another's motions, 
When the first descends, the others 
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise 
Round their victim, sick and wounded, 
First a shadow, then a sorrow, 
Till the air is dark with anguish. 

Now, o'er all the dreary Northland, 
Mighty Peboan, the Winter, 
Breathing on the lakes and rivers, 
Into stone had changed their waters, 
From his hair he shook the snow-flakes, 
Till the plains were strewn with whiteness, 
One uninterrupted level, 
As if, stooping, the Creator 
With his hand had smoothed them over. 

Through the forest, wide and wailing, 
Roamed the hunter on his snow-shoes ; 
In the village worked the women, 
Pounded maize, or dressed the deer-skin ; 



360 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

And the young men played together 

On the ice the noisy ball-play, 

On the plain the dance of snow-shoes. 

One dark evening, after sundown, 
In her wigwam Laughing Water 
Sat with old Nokomis, waiting 
For the steps of Hiawatha 
Homeward from the hunt returning. 

On their faces gleamed the fire-light, 
Painting them with streaks of crimson, 
In the eyes of old Nokomis 
Glimmered like the watery moonlight, 
In the eyes of Laughing Water 
Glistened like the sun in water ; 
And behind them crouched their shadows 
In the corners of the wigwam, 
And the smoke in wreaths above them 
Climbed and crowded through the smoke-flue. 

Then the curtain of the doorway 
From without was slowly lifted ; 
Brighter glowed the fire a moment, 
And a moment swerved the smoke-wreath, 
As two women entered softly, 
Passed the doorway uninvited, 
Without word of salutation, 
Without sign of recognition, 
Sat down in the farthest corner, 
Crouching low among the shadows. 

From their aspect and their garments, 
Strangers seemed they in the village ; 
Very pale and haggard were they, 
As they sat there sad and silent, 
Trembling, cowering with the shadows. 

Was it the wind above the smoke-flue, 
Muttering down into the wigwam ? 
Was it the owl, the Koko-koho, 
Hooting from the dismal forest ? 
Sure a voice said in the silence : 
" These are corpses clad in garments, 



THE GHOSTS. 361 

These are ghosts that come to haunt you, 
From the kingdom of Ponemah, 
From the land of the Hereafter ! " 

Homeward now came Hiawatha 
From his hunting in the forest, 
With the snow upon his tresses, 
And the red deer on his shoulders. 
At the feet of Laughing Water 
Down he threw his lifeless burden ; 
Nobler, handsomer she thought him, 
Than when first he came to woo her, 
First threw down the deer before her, 
As a token of his wishes, 
As a promise of the future. 

Then he turned and saw the strangers, 
Cowering, crouching with the shadows ; 
Said within himself, " Who are they ? 
What strange guests has Minnehaha ? " 
But he questioned uot the strangers, 
Only spake to bid them welcome 
To his lodge, his food, his fireside. 

When the evening meal was ready, 
And the deer had been divided, 
Both the pallid guests, the strangers, 
Springing from among the shadows, 
Seized upon the choicest portions, 
Seized the white fat of the roebuck, 
Set apart for Laughing Water, 
For the wife of Hiawatha ; 
Without asking, without thanking, 
Eagerly devoured the morsels, 
Flitted back among the shadows 
In the corner of the wigwam. 

Not a word spake Hiawatha, 
Not a motion made Nokomis, 
Not a gesture Laughing Water ; 
Not a change came o'er their features ; 
Only Minnehaha softly 
Whispered, saying, " They are famished ; 



362 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Let them do what best delights them ; 
Let them eat, for they are famished." 

Many a daylight dawned and darkened, 
Many a night shook off the daylight 
As the pine shakes off the snow-flakes 
From the midnight of its branches ; 
Day by day the guests unmoving 
Sat there silent in the wigwam ; 
But by night, in storm or starlight, 
Forth they went into the forest, 
Bringing fire- wood to the wigwam, 
Bringing pine-cones for the burning, 
Always sad and always silent. 

And whenever Hiawatha 
Came from fishing or from hunting, 
When the evening meal was ready, 
And the food had been divided, 
Gliding from their darksome corner, 
Came the pallid guests, the strangers, 
Seized upon the choicest portions 
Set aside for Laughing Water, 
And without rebuke or question 
Flitted back among the shadows. 

Never once had Hiawatha 
By a word or look reproved them ; 
Never once had old Nokomis 
Made a gesture of impatience ; 
Never once had Laughing Water 
Shown resentment at the outrage. 
All had they endured in silence, 
That the rights of guest and stranger, 
That the virtue of free-giving, 
By a look might not be lessened, 
By a word might not be broken. 

Once at midnight Hiawatha, 
Ever wakeful, ever watchful, 
In the wigwam, dimly lighted 
By the brands that still were burning, 
By the glimmering, flickering fire-light, 



THE GHOSTS. 363 

Heard a sighing, oft repeated, 
Heard a sobbing, as of sorrow. 

From his couch rose Hiawatha, 
From his shaggy hides of bison, 
Pushed aside the deer-skin curtain, 
Saw the pallid guests, the shadows, 
Sitting upright on their couches, 
Weeping in the silent midnight. 

And he said : " O guests !°why is it 
That your hearts are so afflicted, 
That you sob so in the midnight ? 
Has perchance the old Nokomis, 
Has my wife, my Minnehaha, 
Wronged or grieved you by unkindness, 
1 ailed in hospitable duties ? " 

Then the shadows ceased from weeping 
Ceased from sobbing and lamenting, & ' 
And they said, with gentle voices : 
" We are ghosts of the departed, 
Souls of those who once were with you. 
From the realms of Chibiabos 
Hither have we come to try yon, 
Hitherhave we come to warn you. 
" Cries of grief and lamentation 
Keach us in the Blessed Islands ; 
Cries of anguish from the living, 
Calling back their friends departed, 
Sadden us with useless sorrow. 
Therefore have we come to try you ; 
No one knows us, no one heeds us. 
We are but a burden to you, 
And we see that the departed 
Have no place among the living 
" Think of this, O Hiawatha" 
Speak of it to all the people, 
That henceforward and forever 
They no more with lamentations 
Sadden the souls of the departed 
In the Islands of the Blessed. 



364 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

" Do not lay such heavy burdens 
In the graves of those you bury, 
Not such weight of furs and wampum, 
Not such weight of pots and kettles, 
For the spirits faint beneath them. 
Only give them food to carry, 
Only give them fire to light them. 

" Four days is the spirit's journey 
To the land of ghosts and shadows, 
Four its lonely night encampments ; 
Four times must their fires be lighted. 
Therefore, when the dead are buried, 
Let a fire, as night approaches, 
Four times on the grave be kindled, 
That the soul upon its journey 
May not lack the cheerful fire-light, 
May not grope about in darkness. 

" Farewell, noble Hiawatha ! 
We have put you to the trial, 
To the proof have put your patience, 
By the insult of our presence, 
By the outrage of our actions. 
We have found you great and noble. 
Fail not in the greater trial, 
Faint not in the harder struggle." 

When they ceased, a sudden darkness 
Fell and filled the silent wigwam. 
Hiawatha heard a rustle 
As of garments trailing by him, 
Heard the curtain of the doorway 
Lifted by a hand he saw not, 
Felt the cold breath of the night air, 
For a moment saw the starlight ; 
But he saw the ghosts no longer, 
Saw no more the wandering spirits 
From the kingdom of Ponemah, 
From the land of the Hereafter. 



XX. 

THE FAMINE. 

O the long and dreary Winter ! 
O the cold and cruel Winter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river, 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the village. 

Hardly from his buried wigwam 
Could the hunter force a passage ; 
With his mittens and his snow-shoes 
Vainly walked he through the forest, 
Sought for bird or beast and found none, 
Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
In the snow beheld no footprints, 
In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
Fell, and could not rise from weakness, 
Perished there from cold and hunger. 

O the famine and the fever ! 
O the wasting of the famine ! 
O the blasting of the fever ! 
O the wailing of the children ! 
O the anguish of the women ! 

All the earth was sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them ! 

Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
Waited not to be invited, 
(365) 



3G6 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Did not parley at the doorway, 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
At the face of Laughing Water. 

And the foremost said : " Behold ine ! 
I am Famine, Bukadawin ! " 
And the other said : " Behold me ! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! " 

And *he lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her, 
Shuddered at the words they uttered, 
Lay down on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
At the looks they cast upon her, 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly soitoav, 
In his face a stony firmness ; 
On his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze and fell not. 

Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting, 
With his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
With his quiver full of arrows, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Into the vast and vacant forest 
On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty ! " 
Cried he with his face uplifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
" Give your children food, O father ! 
Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha ! " 

Through the far-resounding forest, 
Through the forest vast and vacant 
Rang that cry of desolation, 



THE FAMINE. 367 

But there came no other answer 
Than the echo of his crying, 
Than the echo of the woodlands, 
" Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " 

All day long roved Hiawatha 
In that melancholy forest, 
Through the shadow of whose thickets, 
In the pleasant days of Summer, 
Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, 
He had brought his young wife homeward 
From the land of the Dacotahs ; 
When the birds sang in the thickets, 
And the streamlets laughed and glistened, 
And the air was full of fragrance, 
And the lovely Laughing Water 
Said with voice that did not tremble, 
" I will follow you, my husband ! " 

In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
With those gloomy guests, that watched her, 
With the Famine and the Fever, 
She was lying, the Beloved, 
She the dying Minnehaha. 

" Hark ! " she said ; " I hear a rushing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to me from a distance ! " 
" No, my child ! " said old Nokomis, 
" 'T is the night- wind in the pine-trees ! " 

" Look ! " she said ; " I see my father 
Standing lonely at his doorway, 
Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! " 
" No, my child ! " said old Nokomis, 
" 'T is the smoke, that waves and beckons ! " 

" Ah ! " she said, " the eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon me in the darkness, 
I can feel his icy fingers 
Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 



368 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Far away amid the forest, ■ 
Miles away among the mountains, 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
" Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 

Over snow-fields waste and pathless, 
Under snow-encumbered # branches, 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, 
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing : 
" Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! 
Would that I had perished for you, 
Would that I were dead as you are ! 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

And he rushed into the wigwam, 
Saw the old Nokomis slowly 
Rocking to and fro and moaning, 
Saw his lovely Minnehaha 
Lying dead and cold before him, 
And his bursting heart within him 
Uttered such a cry of anguish, 
That the forest moaned and shuddered, 
That the very stars in heaven 
Shook and trembled with his anguish. 

Then he sat down, still and speechless, 
On the bed of Minnehaha, 
At the feet of Laughing Water, 
At those willing feet, that never 
More would lightly run to meet him, 
Never more would lightly follow. 

With both hands his face he covered, 
Seven long days and nights he sat there, 
As if in a swoon he sat there 
Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
Of the daylight or the darkness. 

Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
In the snow a grave they made her, 






THE FAMINE. 369 



In the forest deep and darksome, 
Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; 
Clothed her in her richest garments, 
Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, 
Covered her with snow, like ermine ; 
Thus they buried Minnehaha. 

And at night a fire was lighted, 
On her grave four times was kindled, 
For her soul upon its journey 
To the Islands of the Blessed. 
From his doorway Hiawatha 
Saw it burning in the forest, 
Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks ; 
From his sleepless bed uprising, 
From the bed of Minnehaha, 
Stood and watched it at the doorway, 
That it might not be extinguished, 
Might not leave her in the darkness. 

" Farewell ! " said he, " Minnehaha ! 
Farewell, O my Laughing Water ! 
All my heart is buried with you, 
All my thoughts go onward with you ! 
Come not back again to labor, 
Come not back again to suffer, 
Where the Famine and the Fever 
Wear the heart and waste the body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter ! " 



VOL. II. 24 



XXI. 

THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT. 

In his lodge beside a river, 
Close beside a frozen river, 
Sat an old man, sad and lonely. 
White his hair was as a snow-drift ; 
Dull and low his fire was burning, 
And the old man shook and trembled, 
Folded in his Waubewyon, 
In his tattered white-skin-wrapper, 
Hearing nothing but the tempest 
As it roared along the forest, 
Seeing nothing but the snow-storm, 
As it whirled and hissed and drifted. 

All the coals were white with ashes, 
And the fire was slowly dying, 
As a young man, walking lightly, 
At the open doorway entered. 
Red with blood of youth his cheeks were, 
Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time, 
Bound his forehead was with grasses ; 
Bound and plumed with scented grasses, 
On his lips a smile of beauty, 
Filling all the lodge with sunshine, 
In his hand a bunch of blossoms 
Filling all the lodge with sweetness. 

" Ah, my son ! " exclaimed the old man, 
" Happy are my eyes to see you. 
Sit here on the mat beside me, 
Sit here by the dying embers, 
Let us pass the night together. 
Tell me of your strange adventures, 
Of the lands where you have travelled ; 
(370) 



THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT. 371 

I will tell you of my prowess, 
Of my many deeds of wonder." 

From his pouch he drew his peace-pipe, 
Very old and strangely fashioned ; 
Made of red stone was the pipe-head, 
And the stem a reed with feathers ; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
Placed a burning coal upon it, 
Gave it to his guest, the stranger, 
And began to speak in this wise : 

" When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the landscape, 
Motionless are all the rivers, 
Hard as stone becomes the water ! " 

And the young man answered, smiling : 
" When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the landscape, 
Flowers spring up o'er all the meadows, 
Singing, onward rush the rivers ! " 

" When I shake my hoary tresses," 
Said the old man darkly frowning, 
" All the land with snow is covered ; 
All the leaves from all the branches 
Fall and fade and die and wither, 
For I breathe, and lo ! they are not. 
From the waters and the marshes 
Rise the wild goose and the heron, 
Fly away to distant regions, 
For I speak, and lo ! they are not. 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the wild beasts of the forest 
Hide themselves in holes and caverns, 
And the earth becomes as flintstone ! " 

" When I shake my flowing ringlets," 
Said the young man, softly laughing, 
" Showers of rain fall warm and welcome, 
Plants lift up their heads rejoicing, 
Back unto their lakes and marshes 
Come the wild goose and the heron, 



372 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow, 
Sing the blue-bird and the robin, 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the meadows wave with blossoms, 
All the woodlands ring with music, 
All the trees are dark with foliage ! " 

While they spake, the night departed ; 
From the distant realms of Wabun, 
From his shining lodge of silver, 
Like a warrior robed and painted, 
Came the sun, and said, " Behold me ! 
Gheezis, the great sun, behold me ! " 

Then the old man's tongue was speechless, 
And the air grew warm and pleasant, 
And upon the wigwam sweetly 
Sang the blue-bird and the robin, 
And the stream began to murmur, 
And a scent of growing grasses 
Through the lodge was gently wafted. 

And Segwun, the youthful stranger, 
More distinctly in the daylight 
Saw the icy face before him ; 
It was Peboan, the Winter! 

From his eyes the tears were flowing, 
As from melting lakes the streamlets, 
And his body shrunk and dwindled 
As the shouting sun ascended, 
Till into the air it faded, 
Till into the ground it vanished, 
And the young man saw before him, 
On the hearth-stone of the wigwam, 
Where the fire had smoked and smouldered, 
Saw the earliest flower of Spring-time, 
Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time, 
Saw the Miskodeed in blossom. 

Thus it was that in the Northland 
After that unheard-of coldness, 
That intolerable Winter, 
Came the Spring with all its splendor. 



THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT. 373 

All its birds and all its blossoms, 

All its flowers and leaves and grasses. 

Sailing on the wind to northward, 
Flying in great flocks, like arrows, 
Like huge arrows shot through heaven, 
Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee, 
Speaking almost as a man speaks ; 
And in long lines waving, bending 
Like a bow-string snapped asunder, 
Came the white goose, Waw-be-wawa ; 
And in pairs, or singly flying, 
Mahng the loon, with clangorous" pinions, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the growse, the Mushkodasa. 

In the thickets and the meadows 
Piped the blue-bird, the Owaissa, 
On the summit of the lodges 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
In the covert of the pine-trees 
Cooed the pigeon, the Omemee, 
And the sorrowing Hiawatha, 
Speechless in his infinite sorrow, 
Heard their voices calling to him, 
Went forth from his gloomy doorway, 
Stood and gazed into the heaven, 
Gazed upon the earth and waters. 

From his wanderings far to eastward, 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun, 
Homeward now returned Iagoo, 
The great traveller, the great boaster, 
Full of new and strange adventures, 
Marvels many and many wonders. 

And the people of the village 
Listened to him as he told them 
Of his marvellous adventures, 
Laughing answered him in this wise : 
" Ugh ! it is indeed Iagoo ! 
No one else beholds such wonders ! " 



374 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

He had seen, he said, a water 
Bigger than the Big- Sea- Water, 
Broader than the Gitche Gumee, 
Bitter so that none could drink it ! 
At each other looked the warriors, 
Looked the women at each other, 
Smiled, and said, " It cannot be so ! 
Kaw ! " they said, " it cannot be so ! " 

O'er it, said he, o'er this water 
Came a great canoe with pinions, 
A canoe with wings came flying, 
Bigger than a grove of pine-trees, 
Taller than the tallest tree-tops ! 
And the old men and the women 
Looked and tittered at each other ; 
" Kaw ! " they said, " we don't believe it ! " 

From its mouth, he said, to greet him, 
Came Waywassimo, the lightning, 
Came the thunder, Annemeekee ! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed aloud at poor Iagoo ; 
" Kaw ! " they said, " what tales you tell us ! " 

In it, said he, came a people, 
In the great canoe with pinions 
Came, he said, a hundred warriors ; 
Painted white were all their faces, 
And with hair their chins were covered ! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed and shouted in derision, 
Like the ravens on the tree-tops, 
Like the crows upon the hemlocks. 
" Kaw ! "' they said, " what lies you tell us ! 
Do not think that we believe them ! " 

Only Hiawatha laughed not, 
But he gravely spake and answered 
To their jeering and their jesting : 
" True is all Iagoo tells us ; 
I have seen it in a vision, 
Seen the great canoe with pinions, 



THE WHITE MAX'S FOOT. 375 

Seen the people with white faces, 
Seen the coming of this bearded 
People of the wooden vessel 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Sends them hither on his errand, 
Sends them to ns with his message. 
Wheresoe'er they move, before them 
Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo, 
Swarms the bee, the honey-maker ; 
Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them 
Springs a flower unknown among us, 
Springs the White-man's Foot in blossom. 

" Let us welcome, then, the strangers, 
Hail them as our friends and brothers, 
And the heart's right hand of friendship 
Give them when they come to see us. 
Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
Said this to me in my vision. 

" I beheld, too, in that vision, 
All the secrets of the future, 
Of the distant days that shall be. 
I beheld the westward marches 
Of the unknown, crowded nations. 
All the land was full of people, 
Restless, struggling, toiling, striving, 
Speaking many tongues, yet feeling 
But one heart-beat in their bosoms. 
In the woodlands rang their axes, 
Smoked their towns in all the valleys, 
Over all the lakes and rivers 
Rushed their great canoes of thunder. 

" Then a darker, drearier vision, 
Passed before me, vague and cloud-like, 
I beheld our nations scattered, 
All forgetful of my counsels, 
Weakened, warring with each other ; 



376 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Saw the remnants of our people 
Sweeping westward, wild and woful, 
Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, 
Like the withered leaves of autumn ! " 



xxn. 

HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE. 

By the shore of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
In the pleasant Summer morning, 
Hiawatha stood and waited. 

All the air was full of freshness, 
All the earth was bright and joyous, 
And before him, through the sunshine, 
Westward toward the neighboring forest 
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, 
Passed the bees, the honey-makers, 
Burning, singing in the sunshine. 

Bright above him shone the heavens, 
Level spread the lake before him ; 
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon, 
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine ; 
On its margin the great forest 
Stood reflected in the water, 
Every tree-top had its shadow, 
Motionless beneath the water. 

From the brow of Hiawatha 
Gone was every trace of sorrow, 
As the fog from off the water, 
As the mist from off tKe meadow. 
With a smile of joy and triumph, 
With a look of exultation, 
As of one who in a vision 
Sees what is to be, but is not, 
Stood and waited Hiawatha. 
(377) 



378 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Toward the sun his hands were lifted, 
Both the palms spread out against it, 
And between the parted fingers 
Fell the sunshine on his features, 
Flecked with light his naked shoulders, 
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree 
Through the rifted leaves and branches. 

O'er the water floating, flying, 
Something in the hazy distance, 
Something in the mists of morning, 
Loomed and lifted from the water, 
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying, 
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. 

Was it Shingebis the diver? 
Was it the pelican, the Shada? 
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah ? 
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, 
With the water dripping, flashing 
From its glossy neck and feathers ? 

It was neither goose nor diver, 
Neither pelican nor heron, 
O'er the water floating, flying, 
Through the shining mist of morning, 
But a birch canoe with paddles, 
Basing, sinking on the water, 
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine, 
And within it came a people 
From the distant land of Wabun, 
From the farthest realms of morning 
Came the Black- Robe chief, the Prophet, 
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face, 
With his guides and his companions. 

And the noble Hiawatha, 
With his hands aloft extended, 
Held aloft in sign of welcome, 
Waited, full of exultation, 
Till the birch canoe with paddles 
Grated on the shining pebbles, 
Stranded on the sandy margin, 



hiawatha's departure. 379 

Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, 
With the cross upon his bosom, 
Landed on the sandy margin. 

Then the joyous Hiawatha 
Cried aloud and spake in this wise : 
" Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, 
When you come so far to see us ! 
All our town in peace awaits you, 
All our doors stand open for you ; 
You shall enter all our wigwams, 
For the heart's right hand we give you. 

" Never bloomed the earth so gayly, 
Never shone the sun so brightly, 
As to-day they shine and blossom 
When you come so far to see us ! 
Never was our lake so tranquil, 
Nor so free from rocks and sand-bars ; 
For your birch canoe in passing 
Has removed both rock and sand-bar ! 

" Never before had our tobacco 
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor, 
Never the broad leaves of our corn-fields 
Were so beautiful to look on, 
As they seem to us this morning, 
When you come so far to see us ! " 

And the Black-Robe chief made answer, 
Stammered in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar : 
" Peace be with you, Hiawatha, 
Peace be with you and your people, 
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon, 
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary ! " 

Then the generous Hiawatha 
Led the strangers to his wigwam, 
Seated them on skins of bison, 
Seated them on skins of ermine, 
And the careful, old Nokomis 
Brought them food in bowls of bass-wood, 
Water brought in birchen dippers, 



380 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

And the calumet, the peace-pipe, 
Filled and lighted for their smoking. 

All the old men of the village, 
All the warriors of the nation, 
All the Jossakeeds, the prophets, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the medicine-men, the Medas, 
Came to bid the strangers welcome ; 
" It is well," they said, " O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

In a circle round the cloorway, 
With their pipes they sat in silence, 
Waiting to behold the strangers, 
Waiting to receive their message ; 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, 
From the wigwam came to greet them, 
Stammering in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar ; 
" It is well," they said, " O brother, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

Then the Black-Robe chief, the prophet, 
Told his message to the people, 
Told the purport of his mission, 
Told them of the Virgin Mary, 
And her blessed Son, the Saviour, 
How in distant lands and ages 
He had lived on earth as we do ; 
How he fasted, prayed, and labored ; 
How the Jews, the tribe accursed, 
Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him ; 
How he rose from where they laid him, 
Walked again with his disciples, 
And ascended into heaven. 

And the chiefs made answer, saying : 
" We have listened to your message, 
We have heard your words of wisdom, 
We will think on what you tell us. 
It is well for us, O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 



HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE. 381 

Then they rose up and departed 
Each one homeward to his wigwam, 
To the young men and the women 
Told the story of the strangers 
Whom the Master of Life had sent them 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

Heavy with the heat and silence 
Grew the afternoon of Summer ; 
With a drowsy sound the forest 
Whispered round the sultry wigwam, 
With a sound of sleep the water 
Rippled on the beach below it ; 
From the corn-fields shrill and ceaseless 
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-Puk-keena ; 
And the guests of Hiawatha, 
Weary with the heat of Summer, 
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam. 

Slowly o'er the simmering landscape 
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, 
And the long and level sunbeams 
Shot their spears into the forest, 
Breaking through its shields of shadow, 
Rushed mto each secret ambush, 
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow ; 
Still the guests of Hiawatha 
Slumbered in the silent wigwam. 

From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis, 
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise, 
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered : 

" I am going, O Nokomis, 
On a long and distant journey, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin. 
But these guests I leave behind me, 
In your watch and ward I leave them ; 
See that never harm comes near them, 
See that never fear molests them, 



382 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Never danger nor suspicion, 
Never want of food or shelter, 
In the lodge of Hiawatha ! " 

Forth into the village went he, 
Bade farewell to all the warriors, 
Bade farewell to all the young men, 
Spake persuading, spake in this wise : 

" I am going, O my people, 
On a long and distant journey ; 
Many moons and many winters 
Will have come, and will have vanished, 
Ere I come again to see you. 
But my guests I leave behind me ; 
Listen to their words of wisdom, 
Listen to the truth they tell you, 
For the Master of Life has sent them 
From the land of light and morning ! " 

On the shore stood Hiawatha, 
Turned and waved his hand at parting ; 
On the clear and luminous water 
Launched his birch canoe for sailing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water ; 
Whispered to it, " Westward ! westward ! 
And with speed it darted forward. 

And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on fire with redness, 
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie, 
Left upon the level water 
One long track and trail of splendor, 
Down whose stream, as down a river, 
Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapors, 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 

And the people from the margin 
Watched him floating, rising, sinking, 
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted 
High into that sea of splendor, 



HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE. 383 

Till it sank into the vapors 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 

And they said, " Farewell forever ! " 
Said, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 
And the forests, dark and lonely, 
Moved through all their depths of darkness, 
Sighed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 
And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 
Sobbed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her haunts among the fen-lands, 
Screamed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 

Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Beloved, 
In the glory of the sunset, 
In the purple mists of evening, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin, 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter ! 



VOCABULARY. 



Adjidau/mo, the red squirrel. 

Ahdeek/, the reindeer. 

Ahkose/win, fever. 

Ahmeek/, the beaver. 

Algon/quin, Ojibway. 

Annemee^kee, the thunder. 

Apuk/wa, a bulrush. 

Baiin-Wwa, the sound of the 
thunder. 

Bemah/gut, the grape-vine. 

Be'na, the pheasant. 

Big-Sea- Water, Lake Superior. 

Bukada/win,/a?tt2tt£. 

Cheemaun/, a birch canoe. 

Chetowaik/, the plover. 

Chibia'bos. a musician ; friend 
of Hiawatha; ruler in the 
Land of Spirits. 

Dahin/da, the bull-frog. 

Dusb-kwo-ne/-sbe, or Iuvo-ne/- 
sbe. the dragon-fly. 

Esa, shame upon you. 

Ewa-yea/, lullaby. 

Gbee/zis, the sun. 

Gitche Gu/mee, the Big- Sea- 
Water, Lake Superior. 

Gitche Man/ito, the Great Spir- 
it, the Master of Life. 

Gushkewau/, the darkness. 

Hiawa/tha, the Wise Man, the 
Teacher; son ofMudjekeewis, 
the West Wind, and Weno- 
na/i, daughter of Nokomis. 
Ia'goo, a great boaster and story- 
teller. 
Inin/ewug, men, or patois in the 

Game of the Bowl. 
Ishkoodah', fire; a comet. 
Jee/bi, a ghost, a spirit. 
Joss'akeed, a prophet. 

VOL. II. 25 (385) 



Kabibonok'ka, the North-Wind. 

Kagh, the hedgehog. 

Ka/go, do not. 

Kahgahgee/, the raven. 

Kaw, no. 

Kaween/, no indeed. 

Kayosbk/, the sea-gull. 

Kee/go, a fish. 

Keeway/din, the Northwest 
Wind, the Home-wind. 

Kena/beek, a serpent. 

Keneu', the great war-eagle. 

Keno/zha, the pickerel. 

Ko/ko-ko/bo, the owl. 

Kuntasoo/, the Game of Plum- 
stones. 

Kwa'sind, the Strong Man. 

Kwo-ne/-she, or Dush-kwo-ne/- 
sbe, the dragon-fly. 
I Mabnabbe/zee, the swa7i. 

Mahng, the loon. 
I Mabn-go-tay/see, loon-hearted, 
brave. 

Mabnomo/nee, wild rice. 
I Ma/ma, the woodpecker. 
I Maskeno/zha, the pike. 

Me'da, a medicine-man. 

Meenab/ga, the blueberry. 

Megissog/won, the great. Pearl- 
Feather, a magician, and the 
Manito of Wealth. 

Meshinaufwa, a pipe-bearer. 

Minjekah/wun, Hiawatha' 's 
mittens. 

Minneba'ha, Laughing Water; 
a water-fall on a stream run- 
ning into the Mississippi, be- 
tween Fort Snelling and the 
Falls of St. Anthony. 



386 



VOCABULARY. 



Minneha/ha, Laughing Water ; 
wife of Hiawatha. 

Minne-wa/wa, apleasant sound, 
as of the ivind in the trees. 

Mishe-Mo/kwa, the Great Bear. 

Mishe-Nah/ma, the Great Stur- 
geon. 

Miskodeed/, the Spring-Beauty, 
the Claytonia Virginica. 

Monda'min, Indian com. 

Moon of Bright Nights, April. 

Moon of Leaves, May. 

Moon of Strawberries, June. 

Moon of the Falling Leaves, 
September. 

Moon of Snow-Shoes, Novem- 
ber. 

Mudjekee/wis, the West-Wind; 
father of Hiawatha. 

Mudway-aush/ka, sound of 
waves on a shore. 

Mushkoda/sa, the grouse. 

Nah/ma, the sturgeon. 

Nah/ma-wusk, spearmint. 

Na'gow Wudj'oo, the Sand 
Dunes of Lake Superior. 

Nee-ba-naw/-baigs, water-spir- 
its. 

Nenemoo/sha, sweetheart. 

Nepah/win, sleep. 

Noko/mis, a grandmother ; 
rnother of Wenonah 

No/sa, my father. 

Nush/ka, look! look! 

Odah/min, the strawberry. 

Okahah/wis, the fresh-water 
herring. 

Ome'me, the pigeon. 

Ona/gon, a bowl. 

Onaway/, awake. 

Ope'chee, the robin. 

Osse'o, Son of the Evening 
Star. 

Owais/sa, the blue-bird. 

Oweenee' wife of Osseo. 

Ozawa'beek, a round piece of 
brass or copper in the Game 
of the Bowl. 

Pah-puk-kee/na, the grasshopi- 
per. 

Pau'guk, death, 

Pau-PukrKee'wis, the hand- 
some Yenadizze, the Storm 
Fool. 

Pauwa/ting, Saut Sainte Marie. 



Pe'boan, Winter. 

Pemi/can, meat of the deer o> 
buffalo dried and pounded. 

Pezhekee', the bison. 

Pishnekuh/, the brant. 

Pone/mah, hereafter. 

Pugasaing/, Game of the Bowl. 

Puggawau'gun, a war-club. 

Puk-Wudj/ies, little wild men 
of the woods ; pigmies. 

Sah-sah-je/-wun, rapids. 

Sah'wa, the perch. 

Segwnn/, Spring. 

Sba'da, the pelican. 

Shahbo/min, the gooseberry. 

Shah-shah, long ago. 

Shaugoda/ya, a coward. 

Shawgashee, the craw-fish. 

Shawonda/see, the South-Wind. 

Shaw/shaw, the sivallow. 

Shesh-ebwug, ducks ; pieces in 
the Game of the Bowl. 

Shin'gebis, the diver, or greebe. 

Showain/ nen\dshm, pity me. 

Shuh-shuh/gah. the blue heron. 

Soan-L'e-ta/ha, strong-hearted. 

Subbeka'she, the spider. 

Sugge/ma, the mosquito. 

To/ tern, family coat-of-arms. 

Ugh, yes. 

Ugudwash/, the sun-fish. 

Unktab.ee/, the God of Water. 

Wabas/so, the rabbit ; the North 

Wabe/no, a magician, a juggler. 

TTabe/no-wusk, yarrow. 

Wa/bun, the East-Wind. 

Wa/bun An/nuntr, the Star of 
the East, the Morning Star. 

Wahono/win, a cry of lamenta- 
tion. 

Wah-wah-tay/see, the fire-fly. 

Wam'pum, beads of shell. 

Waubewy/on, a white skin 
wrapper. 

Wa/wa, the wild-goose. 

Waw/beek, a rock. 

Waw-be-wa/wa, the white goose. 

TVawonais'sa, the whippoorwill. 

Way-muk-kwa'na, the cater- 
pillar. 

Wen/digoes, giants. 

Weno/nah, HiawatJicCs mother, 
daughter of Nokomis. 

Yenadiz/ze, an idler and gam- 
bler ; an Indian dandy. 



NOTES. 



NOTES. 

The Golden Legend. The old Legenda Aurea, or 
Golden Legend, was originally written in Latin, in the 
thirteenth century, by Jacobus de Voragine, a Dominican 
friar, who afterwards became Archbishop of Genoa, and 
died in 1292. 

He called his book simply " Legends of the Saints." 
The epithet of Golden was given it by his admirers; for, 
as Wynkin de Worde soys, " Like as passeth gold in 
value all other metals, so this Legend exceedeth all other 
books." But Edward Leigh, in much distress of mind, 
calls it " a book written by a man of a leaden heart for 
the basenesse of the errours, that are without wit or rea- 
son, and of a brazen forehead, for his impudent boldnesse 
in reporting things so fabulous and incredible." 

This work, the great text book of the legendary lore of 
the Middle Ages, was translated into French in the four- 
teenth century by Jean de Vignay, and in the fifteenth 
into English by William Caxton. It has lately been 
made more accessible by a new French translation : La 
Legende Doree, traduite du Latin, par M. G. B. Paris, 
1850. There is a copy of the original, with the Gesta 
Longobardorwn appended, in the Harvard College Library, 
Cambridge, printed at Strasburg, 1496. The title-pagels 
wanting ; and the volume begins with the Tabula Legerir- 
dorum. 

I have called this poem the Golden Legend, because the 
story upon which it is founded seems to me to surpass all 
other legends in beauty and significance. It exhibits, 
amid the corruptions of the Middle Ages, the virtue of 
disinterestedness and self-sacrifice, and the power of 
Faith, Hope, and Charity, sufficient for all the exigencies 
of life and death. The story is told, and perhaps invented, 
by Hartmann von der Aue, a Minnesinger of the twelfth 



390 NOTES. 

century. The original may be found in Mailath's. Alt- 
deutsche Gedichte, with a modern German version. There 
is another in Marbach's Volksbucher, No. 32. 

Page 82. For these bells have been anointed, 
And baptized toith holy water! 

The Consecration and Baptism of Bells is one of the 
most curious ceremonies of the church in the Middle 
Ages. The Council of Cologne ordained as follows: — 

" Let the bells be blessed, as the trumpets of the Church 
militant, by which the people are assembled to hear the 
word of God ; the clergy to announce his mercy by day, 
and his truth in their nocturnal vigils: that by theirsound 
the faithful may be invited to prayers, and that the spirit 
of devotion in them may be increased. The fathers have 
also maintained that demons, affrighted by the sound of 
bells calling Christians to prayers, would flee away ; and 
when they fled, the persons of the faithful would be 
secure: that the destruction of lightnings and whirlwinds 
would be averted, and the spirits of the storm de- 
feated." — Edinburgh Encyclopaedia, Art. Bells. See also 
Scheible's Kloster, VI. 776. 

Page 115. It is the malediction of Eve ! 

" Nee esses plus quam femina, quae nunc etiam viros 
transcendis, et quos maledictionem Eva? in benedictionem 
vertisti Maria?." — Epistola Abadardi Heloissa). 

Page 139. To come bach to my text ! 

In giving this sermon of Friar Cuthbert as a specimen 
of the Risus Paschales, or street-preaching of the monks 
at Easter, I have exaggerated nothing. This very an- 
ecdote, offensive as it is, comes from a discourse of Father 
Barletta, a Dominican friar of the fifteenth century, whose 
fame as a popular preacher was so great, that it gave rise 
to the proverb, 

Nescit predicate 
Qui nescit Barlettare. 

" Among the abuses introduced in this century," says 
Tiraboschi, " was that of exciting from the pulpit the 
laughter of the hearers: as if that were the same thing 
as converting them. We have examples of this, not only 
in Italy, but also in France, where the sermons of Menot 
and Maillard, and of others, who would make a better 
appearance on the stage than in the pulpit, are still cele- 
brated for such follies." 

If the reader is curious to see how far the freedom of 
speech was carried in these popular sermons, he is re- 
ferred to Scheible's Kloster, Vol. I., where he will find 






NOTES. 391 

extracts from Abraham a Sancta Clara, Sebastian Frank, 
and others; and in particular an anonymous discourse 
called Der Grdael der Verwiistung, The Abomination of 
Desolation, preached at Ottakring, a village west of Vi- 
enna, November 25, 1782, in which the license of language 
is carried to its utmost limit. 

See also Predicatoriana, ou Revelations singidieres et 
amusantes sur les Predicateurs ; par G. P. Philomneste. 
(Menin.) This work contains extracts from the popular 
sermons of St. Vincent Ferrier, Barletta, Menot, Maillard, 
Marini, Raulin, Valladier, De Besse, Camus, Pere Andre, 
Bening, and the most eloquent of all, Jacques Brydaine. 

My authority for the spiritual interpretation of bell- 
ringing, which follows, is Durandus, Ration. Divin. Ojfic, 
Lib. I. cap. 4. 

Page 143. The Nativity: a Miracle-Play. 

A singular chapter in the history of the Middle Ages is 
that which gives account of the early Christian Drama, 
the Mysteries, Moralities, and Miracle-Plays, which were 
at first performed in churches, and afterwards in the 
streets, on fixed or movable stages. For the most part, 
the Mysteries were founded on the historic portions of 
the Old and New Testaments, and the Miracle-Plays on 
the lives of Saints ; a distinction not always observed, 
however, for in Mr. Wright's "Early Mysteries and other 
Latin Poems of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries," 
the Resurrection of Lazarus is called a Miracle, and not 
a Mystery. The Moralities were plays, in which the Vir- 
tues and Vices were personified. 

The earliest religious play, which has been preserved, 
is the Christos Paschon of Gregory Nazianzen, written in 
Greek, in the fourth century. Next to this come the 
remarkable Latin plays of Roswitha, the Nun of Ganders- 
heim, in the tenth century, which, though crude and 
wanting in artistic construction, are marked by a good 
deal of dramatic power and interest. A handsome edition 
of these plays, with a French translation, has been lately 
published, entitled Theatre de Roisvitha, Religieuse all'e- 
mande du X e Siecle. Par Charles Magnin. Paris, 1845. 

The most important collections of English Mysteries and 
Miracle-Plays are those known as the Townley, the Ches- 
ter, and the Coventry Plays. The first of these collec- 
tions has been published by the Surtees Society, and the 
other two by the Shakespeare Society. In his" Introduc- 
tion to the Coventry Mysteries, the editor, Mr. Halliwell, 
quotes the following passage from Dugdale's Antiquities 
of Warwickshire : — 



392 NOTES. 

" Before the suppression of the monasteries, this city 
was very famous for the pageants, that were played 
therein, upon Corpus-Christi day; which, occasioning 
very great confluence of people thither, from far and near, 
was of no small benefit thereto; which pageants being 
acted with mighty state and reverence by the friars of this 
house, -had theaters for the severall scenes, very large and 
high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all the eminent 
parts of the city, for the better advantage of spectators : 
and contain'd the story of the New Testament, composed 
into old English Rithme, as appeareth by an ancient MS. 
intituled Ludus Corporis Cfwisti, or Lucius Conventrice. I 
have been told by some old people, who in their younger 
years were eyewitnesses of these pageants so acted, that 
the yearly confluence of people to see that shew was ex- 
traordinary great, and yielded no small advantage to this 
city." 

The representation of religious plays has not yet been 
wholly discontinued by the Roman Church. At Ober- 
Ammergau, in the Tyrol, a grand spectacle of this kind 
is exhibited once in ten years. A very graphic descrip- 
tion of that which took place in the year 1850, is given 
by Miss Anna Mary Howitt, in her " Art-Student in 
Munich," Vol. I. Chap. IV. She says:— 

" We had come expecting to feel our souls revolt at so 
material a representation of Christ, as any representation 
of him we naturally imagined must be in a peasant's 
Miracle-Play. Yet so far, strange to confess, neither 
horror, disgust, nor contempt was excited in our minds. 
Such an earnest solemnity and simplicity breathed 
throughout the whole of the performance, that to me, at 
least, any thing like auger, or a perception of the ludi- 
crous, would have seemed more irreverent on my part 
than was this simple, childlike rendering of the sublime 
Christian tragedy. We felt at times as though the figures 
of Cimabue's', Giotto's, and Perugino's pictures had become 
animated, and were moving before us ; there was the same 
simple arrangement and brilliant color of drapery, — the 
same earnest, quiet dignity about the heads, whilst the 
entire absence of all theatrical effect wonderfully in- 
creased the illusion. There were scenes and groups so 
extraordinarily like the early Italian pictures, that you 
could have declared they were the works of Giotto 
and Perugino, and not living men and women, had not 
the figures moved and spoken, and the breeze stirred their 
richly colored drapery, and the sun cast long, moving 
shadows behind them on the stage. These effects of sun- 



NOTES. 393 

shine and shadow, and of drapery fluttered by the wind, 
were very striking and beautiful ; one could imagine how 
the Greeks must have availed themselves of such striking 
effects in their theatres open to the sky." 

Mr. Bayard Taylor, in his " Eldorado," gives a descrip- 
tion of a Mystery he saw performed at San Lionel, in 
Mexico. See Vol. II. Chap. XI. 

" Against the wing-wall of the Hacienda del Mayo, 
which occupied one end of the plaza, was raised a plat- 
form, on which stood a table covered with scarlet cloth. 
A rude bower of cane-leaves, on one end of the platform, 
represented the manger of Bethlehem ; while a cord, 
stretched from its top across the plaza to a hole in the 
front of the church, bore a large tinsel star, suspended by 
a hole in its centre. There was quite a crowd in the 
plaza, and very soon a procession appeared, coming up 
from the lower part of the village. The three kings took 
the lead ; the Virgin, mounted on an ass that gloried in 
a gilded saddle and rose-besprinkled mane and tail, fol- 
lowed them, led by the angel; and several women, with 
curious masks of paper, brought up the rear. Two char- 
acters of the harlequin sort — one with a dog's head on 
his shoulders, and the other a bald-headed friar, with a 
huge hat hanging on his back — played all sorts of antics 
for the diversion of the crowd. After making the circuit 
of the plaza, the Virgin was taken to the platform, and 
entered the manger. King Herod took his seat at the 
scarlet table, with an attendant in blue coat and red sash, 
whom I took to be his Prime Minister. The three kings 
remained on their horses in front of the church ; but be- 
tween them and the platform, under the string on which 
the star was to slide, walked two men in long white robes 
and blue hoods, with parchment folios in their hands. 
These were the Wise Men of the East, as one might 
readily know from their solemn air, and the mysterious 
glances which they cast towards all quarters of the 
heavens. 

" In a little while, a company of women on the plat- 
form, concealed behind a curtain, sang an ■angelic chorus 
to the tune of ' pescator dell'onda.' At the proper mo- 
ment, the Magi turned towards the platform, followed by 
the star, to which a string was conveniently attached, 
that it might be slid along the line. The three kings fol- 
lowed the star till it reached the manger, when they dis- 
mounted, and inquired for the sovereign whom it had led 
them to visit. They were invited upon the platform, and 
introduced to Herod, as the only king : this did not seem 



394 NOTES. 

to satisfy them, and, after some conversation, they re- 
tired. By this time the star had receded to the other end 
of the line, and commenced moving forward again, they 
following. The angel called them into the manger, where, 
upon their knees, they were shown a small wooden box, 
supposed to contain the sacred infant ; they then retired, 
and the star brought them back no more. After this de- 
parture, King Herod declared himself greatly confused by 
what he had witnessed, and was very much afraid this 
newly found king would weaken his power. Upon con- 
sultation with his Prime Minister, the Massacre of the 
Innocents was decided upon, as the only means of security, 

" The angel, on hearing this, gave warning to the Vir- 
gin, who quickly got down from the platform, mounted 
her bespangled donkey, and hui-ried off. Herod's Prime 
Minister directed all the children to be handed up for 
execution. A boy, in a ragged sarape, was caught and 
thrust forward; the Minister took him by the heels in 
spite of his kicking, and held his head on the table. The 
little brother and sister of the boy, thinking he was really 
to be decapitated, yelled at the top of their voices, in an 
agony of terror, which threw the crowd into a roar of 
laughter. King Herod brought down his sword with a 
whack on the table, and the Prime Minister, dipping his 
brush into a pot of white paint which stood before him, 
made a flaring cross on the boy's face. Several other 
boys were caught and served likewise; and, finally, the 
two harlequins, whose kicks and struggles nearly shook 
down the platform. The procession then went off up the 
hill, followed by the whole population of the village. All 
the evening there were fandangos in the meson, bonfires 
and rockets on the plaza, ringing of bells, and high mass 
in the church, with the accompaniment of two guitars, 
tinkling to lively polkas." 

In 1852 there was a representation of this kind by Ger 
mans in Boston: and I have now before me the copy of a 
play-bill, announcing the performance, on June 10, 1852, 
in Cincinnati, of the " Great Biblico-Historical Drama, 
the Life of Jesus Christ," with the characters and the 
names of the performers. 

Page 165. The Scriptorium. 

A most interesting volume might be written on the 
Calligraphers and Chrysographers, the transcribers and 
illuminators of manuscripts in the Middle Ages. These 
men were for the most part monks, who labored, some- 
times for pleasure and sometimes for penance, in multi- 
plying copies of the classics and the Scriptures. 



NOTES. 395 

" Of all bodily labors, which are proper for us," says 
Cassiodorus, the old Calabrian monk, " that of copying 
books has always been more to my taste than any other. 
The more so, as in this exercise the mind is instructed by 
the reading of the Holy Scriptures, and it is a kind of 
homily to the others, whom these books may reach. It 
is preaching with the hand, by converting the fingers into 
tongues ; it is publishing to men in silence the words of 
salvation ; in fine, it is fighting against the demon with 
pen and ink. As many words as a transcriber writes, so 
many wounds the demon receives. In a word, a recluse, 
seated in his chair to copy books, travels into different 
provinces, without moving from the spot, and the labor 
of his hands is felt even where he is not." 

Nearly every monastery was provided with its Scrip- 
torium. Nicolas de Clairvaux, St. Bernard's secretary, 
in one of his letters describes his cell, which he calls 
Scriptoriolum, where he copied books. And Mabillon, 
in his Etudes Mo?iastiques, says that in his time were still 
to be seen at Citeaux " many of those little cells, where 
the transcribers and bookbinders worked." 

Silvestre's Paleographie Universelle contains a vast 
number of fac-similes of the most beautiful illuminated 
manuscripts of all ages and all countries ; and Montfaucon 
in his PcUoBographia Grceca gives the names of over three 
hundred calligraphers. He also gives an account of the 
books they copied, and the colophons, with which, as 
with a satisfactory flourish of the pen, they closed their 
long-continued labors. Many of these are very curious ; 
expressing joy, humility, remorse; entreating the reader's 
prayers and pardon for the writer's sins ; and sometimes 
pronouncing a malediction on any one who should steal 
the book. A few of these I subjoin: — 

" As pilgrims rejoice, beholding their native land, so 
are transcribers made glad, beholding the end of a book." 

" Sweet is it to write the end of any book." 

" Ye who read, pray for me, who have written this 
book, the humble and sinful Theodulus." 

" As many therefore as shall read this book, pardon me, 
I beseech you, if aught I have erred in accent acute and 
grave, in apostrophe, in breathing soft or aspirate ; and 
may God save you all! Amen." 

"If any thing is well, praise the transcriber; if ill, par- 
don his unskill'ulness." 

" Ye who read, pray for me, the most sinful of all men, 
for the Lord's sake." 

" The hand that has written this book shall decay, alas ! 
and become dust, and go down to the grave, the corrupter 



396 NOTES. 

of all bodies. But all ye who are of the portion of Christ, 
pray that I may obtain tbe pardon of my sins. Again 
and again I beseech you with tears, brothers and fathers, 
accept my miserable supplication, holy choir! I am 
called John, woe is me ! I am called Hiereus, or Sacerdos, 
in name only, not in unction." 

" Whoever shall carry away this book, Avithout permis- 
sion of the Pope, may he incur the malediction of the 
Holy Trinity, of the Holy Mother of God, of Saint J ohn 
the Baptist, of the one hundred and eighteen holy Nicene 
Fathers, and of all the Saints; the fate of Sodom and 
Gomorrah; and the halter of Judas ! Anathema, amen." 

" Keep safe, Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
my three fingers, with which I have written this book." 

*' Mathusalas Machir transcribed this divinest book in 
toil, infirmity, and dangers many." 

" Bacchius Barbardorius and Michael Sophianus wrote 
this book in sport and laughter, being the guests of their 
noble and common friend Vincentius Pinellus, and Petrus 
Nunnius, a most learned man." 

This last colophon, Montfaucon does not suffer to pass 
without reproof. " Other calligraphei's," he remarks, 
" demand only the prayers of their readers, and the par- 
don of their sins; but these glory in their wantonness." 

Page 175. Drink down to your peg ! 

One of the canons of Archbishop Anselm, promulgated 
at the beginning of the twelfth century, ordains u that 
priests go not to drinking-bouts, nor drink to pegs." In 
the times of the hard-drinking Danes, King Edgar or- 
dained that " pins or nails should be fastened into the 
drinking-cnps or horns at stated distances, and whosoever 
should drink beyond those marks at one draught should 
be obnoxious to a severe punishment." 

Sharpe, in his History of the Kings of England, says : 
" Our ancestors were formerly famous for compotation ; 
their liquor was ale, and one method of amusing them- 
selves in this way was with the peg-tankard. I had 
lately one of them in my hand. It had on the inside a 
row of eight pins, one "above another, from top to bot- 
tom. It held two quarts, and was a noble piece of plate, 
so that there was a gill of ale, half a pint Winchester 
measure, between each peg. The law was, that every 
person that drank was to empty the space between pin 
and pin, so that the pins were so many measures to make 
the company all drink alike, and to swallow the same 
quantity of liquor. This was a pretty sure method of 
making all the company drunk, especially if it be con- 
sidered that the rule was, that whoever drank short of his 



NOTES. 397 

pin, or beyond it, was obliged to drink again, and even as 
deep as to' the next pin." 

Page 177. The convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys. 

Abelard, in a letter to his friend Philintus, gives a sad 
picture of this monastery. "I live," he says, "in a bar- 
barous country, the language of which I do not under- 
stand ; I have no conversation but with the rudest people, 
my walks are on the inaccessible shore of a sea, which is 
perpetually stormy, my monks are only known by their 
dissoluteness, and living without any rule or order, could 
you see the abby, Philintus, you would not call it one. 
the doors and walls are without any ornament, except 
the heads of wild boars and hinds feet, which are nailed 
up against them, and the hides of frightful animals, the 
cells are hung with the skins of deer, the monks have 
not so much as a bell to wake them, the cocks and dogs 
supply that defect, in short, they pass their whole days 
in hunting; would to heaven that were their greatest 
fault! or that their pleasures terminated there! I en- 
deavour in vain to recall them to their duty ; they all 
combine against me, and I only expose myself to continual 
vexations and dangers. I imagine I see every moment a 
naked sword hang over my head, sometimes they sur- 
round me, and load me with infinite abuses ; sometimes 
they abandon me, and I am left alone to my own torment- 
ing thoughts. I make it my endeavour to merit by my 
sufferings, and to appease an angry God. sometimes I 
grieve for the loss of the house of the Paraclete, and wish 
to see it again, ah Philintus, does not the love of Heloise 
still burn in my heart ? I have not yet triumphed over 
that unhappy passion, in the midst of my retirement I 
sigh, I weep, I pine, I speak the dear name Heloise, and 
am pleased to hear the sound." — Letters of the Celebrated 
Abelard and Heloise. Translated by Mr. John Hughes. 
Glasgow, 1751. 

Page 199. Were it not for my magic garters and staff. 

The method of making the Magic Garters and the 
Magic Staff is thus laid down in Les Secrets Merveilleux 
du Petit Albert, a French translation of Alberti Parvi Lucii 
Libellus de Mirabilibus Naturai Arcanis :— 

" Gather some of the herb called motherwort, when the 
sun is entering the first degree of the sign of Capricorn ; 
let it dry a little in the shade, and make some garters of 
the skin of a young hare ; that is to say, having cut the 
skin of the hare into strips two inches wide, double them, 
sew the before-mentioned herb between, and wear them 
on your legs. No horse can long keep up with a man on 
foot, who is furnished with these garters." — p. 128. 



398 NOTES. 

" Gather, on the morrow of All-Saints, a strong branch 
of willow, of which you will make a staff, fashioned to 
your liking. Hollow it out, by removing the pith from 
within, after having furnished the lower end Avith an iron 
ferule. Put into the bottom of the staff the two eyes of 
a young wolf, the tongue and heart of a dog, three green 
lizards, and the hearts of three swallows. These must 
all be dried in the sun, between two papers, having been 
first sprinkled with finely pulverized saltpetre. Besides 
all these, put into the staff seven leaves of vervain, 
gathered on the eve of St. John the Baptist, with a stone 
of divers colors, which you will find in the nest of the 
lapwing, and stop the end of the staff with a pomel of 
box, or of any other material you please, and be assured, 
that this staff will guarantee you from the perils and 
mishaps which too often befall travellers, either from rob- 
bers, wild beasts, mad dogs, or venomous animals. It 
will also procure you the good-will of those with whom 
you lodge." — p. 130. 

Page 206. Saint Elmo's stars. 

So the Italian sailors call the phosphorescent gleams 
that sometimes play about the masts and rigging of 
ships. 

Page 208. The School of Salerno. 

For a history of the celebrated schools of Salerno and 
Monte-Cassino, the reader is referred to Sir Alexander 
Croke's Introduction to the Regimen Sanilatis Salernita- 
num; and to Kurt SprengePs Geschichte der Arzneikunde, 
I. 463, or Jourdan's French translation of it, Histoire de 
la Medecine, II. 354. 

The Song of Hiawatha. — This Indian Edda — if I 
may so call it — is founded on a tradition prevalent among 
the North American Indians, of a personage of miracu 
lous birth, who was sent among them to clear their rivers, 
forests, and fishing-grounds, and to teach them the arts 
of peace. He was known among different tribes by the 
several names of Michabou, Chiabo, Manabozo, Tarenya- 
wagon, and Hiawatha. Mr. Schoolcraft gives an account 
of him in his Algic Researches, Vol. I. p. 134; and in his 
History, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of 
the United States, Part. III. p. 314, may be found the Iro- 
quois form of the tradition, derived from the verbal nar- 
rations of an Onondaga chief. 

Into this old tradition I have woven other curious In- 
dian legends, drawn chiefly from the various and valu- 
able writings of Mr. Schoolcraft, to whom the literary 
world is greatly indebted for his indefatigable zeal in res- 



NOTES. 399 

cuing from oblivion so much of the legendary lore of the 
Indians. 

The scene of the poem is among the Ojibways on the 
southern shore of Lake Superior, in the region between 
the Pictured Rocks and the Grand Sable. 

Page 232. In the Vale of Tawasentha. 

This valley, now called Norman's Kill, is in Albany 
County, New York; 

Page 235. On the 31ountains of the Prairie. 

Mr. Catlin, in his Letters and Notes on the Manners, 
Customs, and Condition of the North American Indians, 
Vol. II. p. 1G0, gives an interesting account of the Cvteau 
des Prairies, and the Red Pipe-stone Quarrv. He says: 

"Here (according to their traditions) happened' the 
mysterious birth of the red pipe, which has blown its 
fumes of peace and war to the remotest corners of the 
continent; which has. visited every warrior, and passed 
through its reddened stem the irrevocable oath of war and 
desolation. And here, also, the peace-breathing calumet 
was born, and fringed with the eagle's quills, which has 
shed its thrilling fumes over the land, and soothed the fury 
of the relentless savage. 

"The Great Spirit at an ancient period here called the 
Indian nations together, and, standing on the precipice of 
the red pipe-stone rock, broke from its wall a piece, and 
made a huge pipe by turning it in his hand, which he 
smoked over them, and to the North, the South, the East, 
and the West, and told them that this stone was red, — 
that it was their flesh, — that they must use it for their 
pipes of peace, — that it belonged to them all, and that 
the war-club and scalping-knife must not be raised on 
its ground. At the last whiff of his pipe his head went 
into a great cloud, and the whole surface of the rock for 
several miles was melted and glazed ; two great ovens 
were opened beneath, and two women (guardian spirits 
of the place) entered them in a blaze of fire; and they 
are heard there yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee and Tso-me-cos-te- 
won-dee), answering to the invocations of the high- 
priests or medicine-men, who consult them when they 
are visitors to this sacred place." 

Page 241. Hark you, Bear ! you are a coward. 

This anecdote is from Heckewelder. In his account of 
the Indian Nations, he describes an Indian hunter as ad- 
dressing a bear in nearly these words. "I was present," 
he says, " at the delivery of this curious invective ; when 
the hunter had despatched the bear, I asked him how he 
thought that poor animal could understand what he said 
to it? ' 0,' said he in answer, ' the bear understood me 



400 NOTES. 

very well; did you not observe how ashamed he looked 
while I was upbraiding him?'" — Transactions of the 
American Philosophical Society, Vol. I. p. 240. 

Page 250. Hush ! the Naked Bear mil get thee I 

Heckewelder, in a letter published in the Transactions 
of the American Philosophical Society, Vol. IV. p. 260, 
speaks of this tradition as prevalent among the Mohicans 
and Delawares. 

" Their reports," he says, "run thus: that among all 
animals that had been formerly in this country, this was 
the most ferocious ; that it was much larger than the 
largest of the common bears, and remarkably long-bodied ; 
all over, (except a spot of hair on its back of a white 
color,) naked 

" The history of this animal used to be a siibject of 
conversation among the Indians, especially when in the 
woods a hunting. I have also "heard them say to their 
children when crying: 'Hush! the naked bear will hear 
you, be upon you, and devour you.' " 

Page 261. Where the Falls of Minnehaha, $c. 

" The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich in beauty. 
The Falls of St. Anthony are familiar to travellers, and 
to readers of Indian sketches. Between the fort and 
these falls are the ' Little Falls,' forty feet in height, on a 
stream that empties into the Mississippi. The Indians 
called them Mine-hah-hah, or 'laughing waters.' " — Mrs. 
Eastman's Dacoiah, or Legends of the Sioux, Introd. p. ii. 

Page 306. Sand Hills of the Nagoio Wudjoo. 

A description of the Grand Sable, or great sand dunes 
of Lake Superior, is given in Foster and Whitney's Re- 
port on the Geology of the Lake Superior Land District, 
Part II. p. 131. 

" The Grand Sable possesses a scenic interest little 
inferior to that of the Pictured Rocks. The explorer 
passes abrupt^ from a coast of consolidated sand to one 
of loose materials; and although in the one case the 
cliffs are less precipitous, yet in the other they attain a 
higher altitude. He sees before him a long reach of 
coast, resembling a vast sand-bank, more than three hun- 
dred and fifty feet in height, without a trace of vegetation. 
Ascending to the top, rounded hillocks of blown sand are 
observed, with occasional clumps of trees, standing out 
like oases in the desert." 

Page 306. Onaway ! Awake, beloved! 

The original of this song mav be found in Littell's Liv- 
ing Age, Vol. XXV. p. 45. 

Page 310. Or the Red Swan floating, flying. 

The fanciful tradition of the Red Swan may be found 



NOTES. 401 

iii Schoolcraft's Algic Researches, Vol. II. p. 9. Three 
brothers were hunting on a wager to see who would bring 
home the first game. 

" They were to shoot no other animal," so the legend 
says, "but such as each was in the habit of killing. 
They set out different ways; Odjibwa, the youngest, had 
not gone far before he saw a bear, an animal he was not 
to kill, by the agreement. He followed him close, and 
drove an arrow through him, which brought him to the 
ground. Although contrary to the bet, he immediately 
commenced skinning him, when suddenly something red 
tinged all the air around him. He rubbed his eyes, think- 
ing he was perhaps deceived ; but without effect, for the 
red hue continued. At length he heard a strange noise 
at a distance. It first appeared like a human voice, but 
after following the sound for some distance, he reached 
the shores of a lake, and soon saw the object he was look- 
ing for. At a distance out in the lake sat a most beautiful 
Red Swan, whose plumage glittered in the sun, and who 
would now and then make the same noise he had heard. 
He was within long bow-shot, and, pulling the arrow from 
the bowstring up to his ear, took deliberate aim and shot. 
The arrow took no effect ; and he shot and shot again till 
his quiver was empty. Still the swan remained, moving 
round and round, stretching its long neck and dipping its 
bill into the water, as if heedless of the arrows shot at it. 
Odjibwa ran home, and got all his own and his brother's 
arrows, and shot them all away. He then stood and 
gazed at the beautiful bird. While standing, he remem- 
bered his brother's saying that in their deceased father's 
medicine-sack were three magic arrows. Off he started, 
his anxiety to kill the swan overcoming all scruples. At 
any other time, he would have deemed it sacrilege to open 
his father's medicine-sack ; but now he hastily seized the 
three arrows and ran back, leaving the other contents of 
the sack scattered over the lodge. The swan was still 
there. He shot the first arrow with great precision, and 
came very near to it. The second came still closer; as 
he took the last arrow, he felt his arm firmer, and, draw- 
ing it up with vigor, saw it pass through the neck of the 
swan a little above the breast. Still it did not prevent 
the bird from flying off, which it did, however, at first 
slowly, flapping its wings and rising gradually into the 
air, and then flying off toward the sinking of the sun." — 
pp. 10-12. 

Page 318. When I think of my beloved. 

The original of this song may be found in Oneola, 
p. 15. 

vol. II. 26 



402 NOTES. 

Page 320. Sing the mysteries of Mondamin. 

The Indians hold the maize, or Indian corn, in great 
veneration. " They esteem it so important and divine 
a grain," says Schoolcraft, " that their story-tellers 
invented various tales, in which this idea is symbolized 
under the form of a special gift from the Great Spirit. 
The Odjibwa-Algonquins, who call it Mon-da-min, that 
is, the Spirit's grain or berry, have a pretty story of this 
kind, in which the stalk in full tassel is represented as 
descending from the sky, under the guise of a handsome 
youth, in answer to the prayers of a young man at his 
fast of virility, or coming to manhood. 

" It is well "known that corn-planting, and corn-gather- 
ing, at least among all the still uncolonized tribes, are left 
entirely to the females and children, and a few superan- 
nuated old men. It is not generally known, perhaps, that 
this labor is not compulsory, and that it is assumed by 
the females as a just equivalent, in their view, for the 
onerous and continuous labor of the other sex, in provid- 
ing meats, and skins for clothing, by the chase, and in 
defending their villages against their enemies, and keep- 
ing intruders off their territories. A good Indian house- 
wife deems this a part of her prerogative, and prides her- 
self to have a store of corn to exercise her hospitality, or 
duly honor her husband's hospitality, in the entertain- 
ment of the lodge guests." — Oneota, p. 82. 

Page 321. Thus the fields shall be more fruitful. 

" A singular proof of this belief, in both sexes, of the 
mysterious influence of the steps of a woman on the 
vegetable and insect creation, is found in an ancient cus- 
tom, which was related to me, respecting corn-planting. 
It was the practice of the hunter's wife, when the field 
of corn had been planted, to choose the first dark or over- 
clouded evening to perform a secret circuit, sans habile- 
ment, around the field. For this purpose she slipped out 
of the lodge in the evening, unobserved, to some obscure 
nook, where she completely disrobed. Then, taking her 
matchecota, or principal garment, in one hand, she 
dragged it around the field. This was thought to insure 
a prolific crop, and to prevent the assaults of insects and 
worms upon the grain. It was supposed they could not 
creep over the charmed line." — Oneota, p. 83. 

Page 324. With his prisoner-string he bound him. 

"These cords," says Mr. Tanner, "are made of the 
bark of the elm-tree, by boiling and then immersing it in 

cold water The leader of a war party commonly 

carries several fastened about his waist, and if, in the 
course of the fight, any one of his young men takes a 



NOTES. 403 

prisoner, it is his duty to bring him immediately to the 
chief, to be tied, and the latter is responsible for his safe- 
keeping." — Narrative of Captivity and Adventures, p. 412. 

Page 325. Wagemin, the thief of corn-fields, 
Paimosaid, the skulking robber. 

" If one of the young female huskers finds a red ear of 
corn, it is typical of a brave admirer, and is regarded as 
a fitting present to some young warrior. But if the ear 
be crooked, and tapering to a point, no matter what color, 
the whole circle is set in a roar, and ica-ge-min is the word 
shouted aloud. It is the symbol of a thief in the corn- 
field. It is considered as the image of an old man stoop- 
ing as he enters the lot. Had the chisel of Praxiteles 
been employed to produce this image, it could not more 
vividly bring to the minds of the merry group the idea 
of a pilferer of their favorite mondamin 

" The literal meaning of the term is, a mass, or crooked 
ear of grain ; but the ear of corn so called is a conven- 
tional type of a little old man pilfering ears of corn in a 
corn-field. It is in this manner that a single word or 
term, in these curious languages, becomes the fruitful 
parent of many ideas. And we can thus perceive why 
it is that the word wagemin is alone competent to excite 
merriment in the husking circle. 

" This term is taken as the basis of the cereal chorus, 
or corn song, as sung by the Northern Algonquin tribes. 
It is coupled with the phrase Paimosaid, — a permutative 
form of the Indian substantive, made from the verb pim- 
o-sa, to walk. Its literal meaning is, he who walks, or the 
walker ; but the ideas conveyed by it are, he who walks 
by night to pilfer corn. It offers, therefore, a kind of 
parallelism in expression to the preceding term." — One- 
ota, p. 254. 

Page 339. Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. 

This Game of the Bowl is the principal game of hazard 
among the Northern tribes of Indians. Mr. Schoolcraft 
gives a particular account of it in Oneota, p. 85. " This 
game," he says, " is very fascinating to some portions of 
the Indians. They stake at it their ornaments, weapons, 
clothing, canoes, horses, every thing in fact they possess ; 
and have been known, it is said, to set up their wives and 
children, and even to forfeit their own liberty. Of such 
desperate stakes I have seen no examples, nor do I think 
the game itself in common use. It is rather confined to 
certain persons, who hold the relative rank of gamblers 
in Indian society, — men who are not noted as hunters or 
warriors, or steady providers for their families. Among 
these are persons who bear the term of lenadizze-wug, 



404 NOTES. 

that is, wanderers about the country, braggadocios, or 
fops. It can hardly be classed with the popular games 
of amusement, by which skill and dexterity are acquired. 
I have generally found the chiefs and graver men of the 
tribes, who encouraged the young men to play ball, and 
are sure to be present at the customary sports, to witness, 
and sanction, and applaud them, speak lightly and dis- 
paragingly of this game of hazard. Yet it cannot be 
denied that some of the chiefs, distinguished in war and 
the chase, at the West, can be referred to as lending their 
example to its fascinating power." 

See also his History, Condition, and Prospects of the 
Indian Tribes, Part II. p. 72. 

Page 352. To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone. 

The reader will find a long description of the Pictured 
Eocks, in Foster and Whitney's Report o~i the Geology of 
the Lake Superior Land District, Part II. p. 124. From 
this I make the following extract: — 

"The Pictured Rocks may be described, in general 
terms, as a series of sandstone bluffs extending along the 
shore of Lake Superior for about five miles, and rising, in 
most places, vertically from the water, without any beach 
at the base, to a height varying from fifty to nearly two 
hundred feet. Were they simply a line of cliffs,' they 
might not, so far as relates to height or extent, be worthy 
of a rank among great natural curiosities, although such 
an assemblage of rocky strata, washed by the waves of 
the great lake, would not, under any circumstances, be 
destitute of grandeur. To the voyager, coasting along 
their base in his frail canoe, they would, at all times, be 
an object of dread; the recoil of the surf, the rock-bound 
coast, affordingj for miles, no place of refuge, — the lower- 
ing sky, the rising wind, — all these would excite his ap- 
prehension, and induce him to ply a vigorous oar until 
the dreaded wall was passed. But in the Pictured Eocks 
there are two features which communicate to the scenery 
a wonderful and almost unique character. These are, 
first, the curious manner in which the cliffs have been 
excavated, and worn away by the action of the lake, 
which, for centuries, has dashed an ocean-like surf 
against their base; and, second, the equally curious 
manner in which large portions of the surface have been 
colored by bands of brilliant hues. 

" It is from the latter circumstance that the name, by 
which these cliffs are known to the American traveller, 
is derived; while that applied to them by the French 
voyageurs (' Les Portails') is derived from the former, 
and by far the most striking peculiarity. 



NOTES. 405 

" The term Pictured Rocks has been in use for a great 
length of time ; but when it was first applied, we have 
been unable to discover. It would seem that the first 
travellers were more impressed with the novel and strik- 
ing distribution of colors on the surface, than with the 
astonishing variety of form into which the cliffs them- 
selves have been worn 

" Our voyageurs had many legends to relate of the 
pranks of the Menni-bojou in these caverns, and, in answer 
to our inquiries, seemed disposed to fabricate stories, 
without end, of the achievements of this Indian deity." 

Page 378. Toioard the sun his hands were lifted. 

In this manner, and with such salutations, was Father 
Marquette received by the Illinois. See his Voyages et 
Vecouvertes, Section V. 



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